An idle bit of Brian De Palma and Paul Schrader completism. They co-conceived the story and Schrader wrote it up. It's a bit Vertigo with some lengthy Godfather-esque set-piece shots that lack the salience of the Coppola originals, shot in Vaseline lens. Wooden lead Cliff Robertson pines for his wife Geneviève Bujold who is killed in a kidnapping ransom payment screwup that put me in mind of sundry cryptocurrency fiascos. This emotional stall out in 1959 makes him susceptible to a second go around with a lookalike in 1975. For just a moment the thing considers going Bluebeard. John Lithgow does what he can as an inexplicably single Southern good old boy who knows how to flatter and party in fluent Italian. Overall it is inert, drecky and icky.
Roger Ebert: three stars of high regard: "sometimes overwrought excess can be its own reward". Vincent Canby: what's in it for the lookalike?