Hey, everyone. "Moriarty" here with some Rumblings From The Lab.

Awwww... has it been a month already? I was just getting used to having these reports to look forward to at the start of each week, and now it's over and done with. Well, one thing's for sure... we're going to have MrBeaks back here on AICN. He's done a great job with the series overall, and today's wrap-up continues the gold standard he already set. Enjoy...

White, always one to court controversy among his fellow critics – he is, after all, an avowed 60’s-style radical given to attacking the prevalent pack mentality that renders much of today’s film criticism so utterly useless – might as well have been referring to De Palma’s entire oeuvre for, even in the weaker efforts – BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES, WISE GUYS, and SNAKE EYES – there is an invigoratingly pure sense of the cinematic that, if only periodically, reminds us of the medium’s possibilities. In BONFIRE, it is the opening tracking shot, a seamless, playfully staged introduction to our narrator, Peter Fallow (Bruce Willis,) that sets the jaded, near-misanthropic tone that should have governed the entire film, while in SNAKE EYES there’s the slow unraveling of the truth by way of that De Palma staple, the flashback, as we revisit the film’s opening moments to realize how there was so much more to the assassination than there seemed initially. These are moments of rare visual imagination in today’s surface obsessed climate, where, in terms of the spectacles that normally dominate the box office, competence suffices behind the camera while the genius is delegated to the f/x houses: to wit, the only moment in the whole of THE MUMMY RETURNS that elicited a genuine chuckle from me was when one of those little creatures sat astride a plummeting log and rode it, ala Slim Pickens in DR. STRANGELOVE, to his death.

That De Palma is capable of such offhanded brilliance in even his lesser efforts makes his continued low standing among cineastes (at least, American cineastes) all the more baffling. For all of his flaws as a filmmaker, shouldn’t his intuitive, visual sense of storytelling redeem him? Even if his detractors were correct, and all he did was parrot the work of Alfred Hitchcock, wouldn’t it still be enough, especially in the wake of Gus Van Sant’s listless, shot-for-shot remake of PSYCHO, that he carries out his homage with astonishing technical precision, working interesting variations on themes initially explored by the Master? Sadly, it seems that for every positive quality one can offer up, it is just as easily undercut by yet another, not-terribly-well-thought-out criticism (e.g. “He’s a misogynist,” or “he’s an egomaniac,”) and even when he does attain some measure of acclaim, it is immediately discredited (e.g. after CARLITO’S WAY was named the best movie of the 90’s by the estimable French film journal Cahiers du Cinema, most American writers jokingly dismissed it, associating the bestowal with the famously ridiculed French affection for Jerry Lewis.)

This is the final installment of my De Palma series, and I’d like to leave you pondering this undeniably talented filmmaker’s place in the pantheon. With these last four films, we’ll run the gamut from two of his best (THE FURY and CARLITO’S WAY) to one of his lesser works (MISSION TO MARS.) Even if you still can’t bring yourself to love his work, I ask that you recognize the skill, his unabashed love for cinema, and his constant risk taking. If you wish to dismiss him altogether, you’ve got your work cut out for you, and I look forward to reading your rationale on the talk back below.

Here comes the pain…..

THE FURY – 1978

Originally intended as a warm-up for the later-abandoned THE DEMOLISHED MAN, THE FURY is no mere curio; it’s the most cinematically exciting film in the De Palma oeuvre, and the most consistently inspired. At its most exaggerated, it carries the unremitting delirium of Murnau’s CABINET OF DR. CALIGARI, and employs more stylistic flourishes than wholly necessary. The unapologetically overindulgent technique dares the audience to resist – and, judging by the film’s tepid box office, they did – but rewards involvement with a finale as satisfyingly outlandish as, perhaps, ever imagined.

The film begins on an ominous note, as John Williams’ main theme, which outdoes the “Imperial March” in terms of conveying sheer menace, accompanies the stark white-on-black credits. With a suitably dark tone set, the film opens at a beach resort in Israel, where we are introduced to Peter Sandza (Kirk Douglas,) a veteran agent retiring from an unnamed government organization that, we later learn, doesn’t “spend a dime on public relations,” his partner Childress (John Cassavetes) and Peter’s son Robin, who, like Sissy Spacek in CARRIE, is enduring adolescence while dealing with a burgeoning telekinetic ability. Recognizing this, Peter, at Childress’ insistence, has enrolled Robin in a special school in Chicago that will help him develop and understand his strange abilities, but, as soon as we learn this, a raid is staged wherein Robin believes his father is killed, though, unbeknownst to him, Peter survives, and manages to seriously wound Childress, who, in staging the assault, has betrayed his former partner.

Flash forward a year to Chicago, where we meet Gillian (Amy Irving,) another teenager similarly coping with the “gift” of telekinesis. She is being sought simultaneously by Childress and his cronies, who run the institute where Robin is now being held, and Peter, who believes Gillian can lead him to Robin. Peter is also aided by Hester (Carrie Snodgrass,) an employee at the institute he contacted initially for her assistance in finding Robin, but with whom he has since fallen in love. Meanwhile, under Childress’ supervision, Robin is being experimented on mercilessly, his power being enhanced at the risk of destabilizing him emotionally – an aspect of his life they try to fulfill by offering up Doctor Charles (Fiona Lewis,) his apparent guardian, as sexual bait – and mentally; thus, giving the impression that Robin may be too far gone to save.

Probably the most densely layered story yet attempted by De Palma at that point in his career, THE FURY is largely a triumph of style, and there’s certainly plenty of it on display; most notably, in Gillian’s silent, slow motion escape from the institute, which, through Williams score and the editing of De Palma and Paul Hirsch, crescendos masterfully from hope to tragedy and, finally, to vengeance. This is a movie drunk on the power of the medium, leaving one with the choice to either belly up at De Palma’s bar, or to abstain, in which case the film will only confound. Because of this, I’ve always understood the film’s chilly public reception, but, in turn, have never been able to fathom the critics’ indifference. This is the kind of work that reminds me why I fell in love with movies in the first place, and continue to endure the deluge of mediocrity belched forth by the studios while I search for that next kinetic triumph.

MISSION TO MARS – 2000

This is not the article where I herald MISSION TO MARS as a misunderstood masterpiece. I’ll leave that for Armond White and Charles Taylor at Salon, who clearly think much more highly of De Palma’s sole foray into traditional science-fiction than I do, but I will credit their fervent defense of the film with encouraging me to reevaluate my initially toxic assessment, one of the few times that I’ve fallen under the influence of the knee-jerk cynicism that I often decry in others of my generation.

Not that De Palma, or, more importantly, the screenwriters make it easy on us. Inheriting the project fairly late in its development from Gore Verbinski, De Palma must be credited with clearly applying his imprimatur to a by-committee, for-hire project greenlit in the wake of the country’s Mars Madness. The script, containing some painfully earnest dialogue that isn’t always delivered with the crucial delicacy required, or, in the case of Jerry O’Connell, competently, is more impressive for the names attached to it (namely Ted Tally,) than for its big twist (guess what planet we used to live on,) but, in De Palma’s hands, and with Ennio Morricone’s mournful score, it’s deeply felt, and surprisingly hopeful. Most impressive is Stephen H. Burum’s lensing of Mars, and the f/x work turned in by ILM and Dream Quest, especially once the astronauts enter the “face.” It’s here that the obvious 2001 connection is established, but any possibility for a grand emotional payoff is sabotaged by a maddeningly intrusive voice over provided by Cheadle, Nielsen and Sinise as we bear witness to a visually spectacular replay of how life on Mars ended, resulting in the subsequent seeding of Earth. Whether or not this was studio mandated I have no idea, but De Palma has proven susceptible to a studio’s bad advice in the past (read Julie Salomon’s THE DEVIL’S CANDY concerning the making of BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES for further illustration.) No matter who’s to blame, it’s a major flaw that prohibits even thinking the term “masterpiece” when considering this film. In the end, MISSION TO MARS is a technically polished, well-paced effort that isn’t as bad as you’ve heard. That’s as far as I’ll go.

SCARFACE – 1983

CARLITO’S WAY – 1993

Ten years separate SCARFACE and CARLITO’S WAY, De Palma’s two Latin-tinged forays into the gangster genre, but tonally and thematically, they are barrios apart. The earlier film, a classically structured cautionary tale detailing the ruthless rise and spectacularly violent fall of Tony Montana, revels in excess and the tough-guy ethos of the street, courtesy of Oliver Stone’s characteristically over-the-top screenplay, but, like its antihero, it remains solidly two-dimensional, while the follow-up is a subdued, elegiac tale of a reformed criminal paying the karmic toll for the misdeeds of his now-vanished youth. Though often thought of as companion pieces, only CARLITO’S WAY plays start-to-finish like a De Palma film, while SCARFACE feels much more like a classic star vehicle.

Which is exactly how it began life; developed by Martin Bregman and the star, the film was originally intended as a straight remake of the 1932 Howard Hawks/Paul Muni classic (subtitled THE SHAME OF THE NATION.) It was the project’s original director, Sidney Lumet, with whom Pacino had worked on DOG DAY AFTERNOON and SERPICO, who suggested setting the film in Miami against the cocaine trade, and making the protagonist one of the Cuban exiles recently sent to America by Castro in an effort to rid his country of its most vicious criminals. By the time De Palma came aboard, the film was already an assemblage of top Hollywood talent, boasting the legendary John Alonzo as its cinematographer, and Fernando Scarfiotti as production designer.

The center of SCARFACE, however, was to be its star, Al Pacino, which De Palma exploits brilliantly in the opening sequence, focusing eye-level on a seated Tony as the camera circles him as relentlessly as the officers question him. In a way, the scene stands as a perversely amusing nod to the opening of ET; faceless government employees shot at waist-level pursuing an alien, only here the alien is Tony, a remorseless murderer bent on running the Miami crime scene. Unwilling to unleash this monster on society, Tony is consigned to Freedomtown, the hastily thrown together refugee camp where most of the newly arrived criminal element is being held, and here Tony is trapped until his best friend, Manny (Steven Bauer,) works out a deal with the local crime lord, Frank Lopez (Robert Loggia,) that secures them their green cards; thus, beginning Tony’s eventual rise through the criminal ranks.

Once on the outside, Tony begins to take, and his appetite for status and wealth is insatiable. “This town is a great big pussy just waiting for me to fuck it,” Tony proclaims, though he is driven less by sex than by money and power (ladies only seem to be an afterthought when he explains “first you get the money, then you get the power, then you get the women.”) Without shame, Tony inserts himself into the cocaine trade, squeezing out Lopez and claiming his wife, Elvira (Michelle Pfeiffer,) as his property. The faster Tony rises, however, the more vulnerable he becomes to the hazards of the dealer lifestyle (e.g. never partake of your own product.) Also complicating matters is his not-entirely-fleshed-out obsession with his sister, Gina (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio,) which turns tragic when she falls for Manny.

Though a tad bloated at three hours, SCARFACE is a phenomenally entertaining film, but as a cautionary tale, it is an utter failure. Once it hit video, De Palma’s film quickly became a favorite of urban youngsters, and soon found its way into their popular culture. In NEW JACK CITY, Wesley Snipes’ drug lord screens it for his friends, and we realize he has patterned his own success after Tony’s. Meanwhile, countless hip-hop acts began to sample dialogue from the film (poetic justice, in a way, borrowing from De Palma, the cinematic sampler,) while Nas, a massively gifted, nineteen year-old emcee appropriated Tony’s maxim, “The World is Yours,” as the title for a song on his brilliant debut LP, ILLMATIC. But just as the criminal lifestyle sent Tony to his grave, so, too, has the SCARFACE aesthetic proved to be a dead end artistically for Nas, who, by re-inventing himself as Tony Montana-esque bad boy Nas Escobar on subsequent LPs, has sold out the promise of his youth for an empty evocation of the ill-fated gangster lifestyle.

If the lesson has thus far gone unlearned in hip-hop, it didn’t escape De Palma and Pacino, which is why CARLITO’S WAY is clearly the superior film. Working from a script by David Koepp, based on the crime novels of Edwin Torres, De Palma’s return to the gangster genre is, from its beginning, strikingly different. Starting at the moment of its protagonist’s ultimate demise, CARLITO’S WAY is a tragedy that drives home the senselessness of the gangster lifestyle with a palpable resonance. This time around, De Palma was working with his team (cinematographer Stephen H. Burum and production designer Richard Sylbert, among others) and on his turf (New York City.) Feeling an obvious confidence with the material, De Palma was primed to bounce back from the disappointments of BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES and RAISING CAIN with a soulful gangster film.

Though not at all apparent from his courtroom gloating upon his release from prison, Carlito Brigante is a humbled man. Spending years in prison has softened and matured him, leading him to the realization that he can either resume his criminal lifestyle and die, or get out. From the beginning, we learn that he has a “paradise” in sight; a fellow prisoner has offered Carlito the opportunity to buy into a car rental business he runs down in the Caribbean. All Carlito needs to do is put away $75,000, and his freedom from the streets will be effectively bought, but the obstacles are immediately set in his path when his cousin brings Carlito along for back-up on what he assures him is a harmless drug delivery. As the situation slowly goes south, Carlito cleverly sets up the only opportunity that will allow him to save himself and his cousin. It’s a classic De Palma set piece, culminating in Pacino barking a threat all the more ferocious due to his being out of bullets.

And, in a way, the same holds true for Carlito in a figurative sense. His relevance on the streets is fading fast, and his ever fading reputation will only keep the young pups away for so long. Carlito knows this, so he manages to turn his attorney and friend, David Kleinfeld’s (Sean Penn) offer to run a local club, bearing the unsubtle title of El Paraiso, into a means of paying for his eventual freedom. In his unusually effective voiceovers, Carlito reminds us that he just has to keep all of the angles straight and he’ll get out alive, but soon, as David begins to act erratically due to a worsening coke habit, his world and the allegiances within it blur, clouding Carlito’s judgment, engaging those “old reflexes,” and once again endangering his life.

Where CARLITO’S WAY sets itself apart from other films of the genre, especially SCARFACE, is in Carlito’s romance with Gail (Penelope Ann Miller,) his ex-girlfriend who will complete his dream of paradise by fleeing to the Caribbean with him. Gail is a dancer who once dreamed of a serious career, but is now relegated to grinding away at a midtown strip joint. In one of the film’s most poignant moments, Gail expresses how she has come to hate her dream as it has slowly slipped away, but here is Carlito, willing to share his own dream, which will be incomplete without her. This scene raises the stakes, and doubles our investment in these characters, making Carlito’s predicament all the more precarious, and setting the stage for a dizzying last half-hour as he tries to free himself of his past life once and for all.

That last half-hour, an unbearably tense chase sequence beginning at 125th Street and ending in Grand Central Station, is perhaps the most impressive filmmaking of De Palma’s career. Carlito has not only earned our respect, but, through his kindness to Gail, our forgiveness. The law of the street, however, has the final say, rendering his debt to society, and even to Gail, secondary. Ostensibly built around honor and loyalty, these rules are ever shifting; therefore, by giving himself over to them in the first place, Carlito’s fate has been irrevocably sealed his whole life.

And shame on you, Luis Guzman. Shame on you.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this casual journey through (most of) the filmography of Brian De Palma. For more information on the man than I could ever hope to provide, stop by www.briandepalma.net.

Send me all pointless anecdotes concerning Tony Gwynn and backgammon!!

Faithfully submitted,

MrBeaks