"The Fury" Ups the Ante on Teenage Alienation

Kirk Douglas watches his son get abducted.

Brian DePalma has made better movies than The Fury (1978), but none that can match it for pure entertainment and craftsmanship. It shows a director, at the peak of his powers, layering science fiction and teen alienation over a conventional suspense plot. As if to make the film even more robust, DePalma integrates some unexpected humor and a shock ending that stunned audiences.

For most of its running time, The Fury follows two parallel stories. In the first, Peter (Kirk Douglas), a retired government agent, searches desperately for his kidnapped teenaged son. An early scene between father and son reveals that Robin (Andrew Stevens) is “special,” though his unique talents remain a mystery throughout much of the film.

Amy Irving as Gillian.

The second plot revolves around Gillian (Amy Irving), a teenage girl who inadvertently discovers she may possess extrasensory powers. Eager to learn about herself, Gillian enrolls at the Paragon Institute, which studies ESP and telepathy. She soon learns that she has a psychic connection with a former Paragon resident—a boy named Robin.

Thematically, the connection between Gillian and Robin is that they’re both isolated from a “normal” society. When Robin’s father discusses returning to the U.S. to attend school, Robin replies: “I won’t fit in; I’d feel like some kind of freak.” Likewise, Gillian knows she is different. Except for one friend, her classmates treat her cruelly or ambivalently (not unlike the title character in DePalma’s earlier Carrie). It’s no wonder that Gillian becomes anxious to meet Robin—to finally talk with someone like herself.

Tragedy strikes during the escape.

Stylistically, DePalma engages in some of his trademark directorial flourishes. There are plenty of foreboding overhead angles and a shot where the camera revolves around Gillian on the stairs as she has a vision. But The Fury also features my favorite sequence in any DePalma film: a stunning, five-minute, slow-motion scene in which Gillian escapes from the Paragon Institute. Manipulating the soundtrack to maximum effect, DePalma avoids dialogue and filters out all natural sounds except for screeching tires and gunshots. He then uses John Williams’superb music score to alter the scene’s mood from light to dark in a matter of seconds.

Although the climax to The Fury goes over-the-top and turns excessively gory, the film’s virtues easily outweigh its faults. Amy Irving turns in a winning, vulnerable performance, while Carrie Snodgress provides great support as a nurse who befriends her. DePalma keeps the plot moving smartly, while visually reminding us this is a film about people reaching out to one another. Watch for his many shots of hands: Gillian grabbing the doctor’s hand on the stairs; Gillian’s and Robin’s finger tapping in unison; and Peter holding onto his son’s hand near the end.

Carrie Snodgress and Kirk Douglas.

Kirk Douglas appeared in movies for three more decades after The Fury. I'd rate this among the best of his late-career performances. He and Snodgress share some winning scenes and he forges an effective paternal relationship with Irving. The Fury is really an ensemble piece and Douglas, the film biggest star, accepts that knowingly.

Trivia fans should note that two of Gillian’s classmates are played by Daryl Hannah and Laura Innes (Carrie on the television series ER). The off-duty cop with the new Cadillac is Dennis Franz, long before NYPD Blue. For the record, my second favorite DePalma film is the equally underrated Body Double, an entertaining, slightly sleazy homage to Hitchcock’s Rear Window.


This post is part of the Kirk Douglas 100th Birthday Blogathon hosted by Shadows and Satin. Click here to check out the complete blogathon schedule.

Sark and Rick Discuss Brian De Palma's "Body Double"

This post is being republished as part of ClassicBecky's and Dorian's The Best Hitchcock Movies (That Hitchcock Never Made) blogathon. Click here to read other entries in the blogathon.

This discussion of Body Double (1984) between film fans from different generations assumes that you’ve seen the film. But if you haven’t—or have, but need a plot refresher--here’s a synopsis:

Actor Jake Scully (Craig Wasson) experiences a debilitating episode of claustrophobia on the set of a low-budget horror film. Dismissed for the day, he discovers his girlfriend Carol making love to another man. Later, he learns that he has been fired from the movie. Since Carol owned the house they shared, Jake needs to find new lodgings. His luck improves when another actor, Sam, offers a house-sitting gig. One of the perks of the observatory-like house is a telescope aimed at the window of an attractive woman who performs a provocative dance routine every night. Jake becomes obsessed with his "window" neighbor, but becomes concerned when he spies another man watching and following her. (Body Double is rated R for adult themes, nudity, and violence.)

Rick29: Sark, you once said that De Palma’s best Hitchcock homages were the ones where he took Hitchcockian themes and turned them on their head. I think Body Double is a great example of that. On the surface, Body Double is a suspense film--and a very good one. But underneath the surface, it's a witty film about acting and deception. When Jake freezes up while reliving the "sardine game" in his acting class, the teacher yells at him: "You've got to act!" That's just what everyone around Jake does throughout the rest of the movie. Alexander Revelle acts the role of Sam who, in turn, acts the role of "the Indian." Holly acts out of the role of Gloria. Even Jake gets in the game, acting out the role of an adult film producer. The scene over the closing credit is a perfect coda, where De Palma shows us a body double in a shower scene in the horror film. Holly, who is standing beside the lead actress, tells her: "I bet this will get you a lot of dates." Thus, more deception will be promulgated!

Sark: In keeping with the idea of deception in the form of acting, it's interesting that Jake's "real life" is the Hitchcockian world. His girlfriend betrays him, he's allowed to stay in an extravagant house, he spies on his beautiful neighbor and eventually shadows her. He's no longer on the movie set, but his life is a movie. And, as we learn, these occurrences in his life are for a "role" that's been scripted for him. And he still can't act, just like in his class. But when he moves beyond the "movie," he enters the adult film industry, and it seems more real than his life. That's because, in actuality, it is real, whereas he was previously being set up as the witness. But he's great as the producer. So he essentially steps off the movie set again. Only this time, he's making his own film, and doing a darn fine job of acting. It's funny that he tells Holly he's interested in her starring in one of his films. He's lying to her, but in another way, he's being truthful. She's in his movie, and I guess that would mean Jake is making a sequel to Sam's movie, right?

Rick29: Great point! And the climax to Jake's film is when he's trapped in the grave with Holly. And what does he do? He uses a method acting technique to overcome his claustrophobia. He remembers what it was like to be trapped--a "sardine"--in the grave in the movie set. Then, he uses that feeling as motivation to overcome his fear and get out of the real grave. By the way, I forgot to mention my favorite of De Palma's visual gags: The title of the movie is shown over a desert landscape. The camera begin to pan apparently, but it turns out that it's the desert that's moving--it's just a canvas backdrop being wheeled around a movie studio. Right from the start, De Palma lets us know that he's going to play with what's real and what's not.

Sark: De Palma is a stylist, and he's always toying with audience's perceptions. I think he manages to do this even with individual characters. It's important to distinguish Gloria from Holly. Gloria is in Sam's movie, the woman for whom he is intended to be a witness. When he finally speaks to her, she's illuminated with soft lighting, and her voice is of the breathless variety. She's a purely cinematic character. Jake's kiss with her is intensified by De Palma's revolving camera (which De Palma had done before in Obsession and Carrie almost as if he is mocking himself). Holly's introduction--her true introduction--is in a pornographic video, and when Jake finally meets her, he's in such a movie, too. Holly's wearing a leather outfit and is covered in harsh lighting (but still very pretty). She isn't a meek woman like Gloria, and with her rather colorful language, she's much more realistic, more true to life. Jake's kiss with Holly, while they're filming the aforementioned movie, is coupled with the previous kiss. It's really just De Palma saying that everything with Gloria isn't real. What's ironic is that Holly is a body double, a cinematic element, but she is the person who brings Jake into the real world. (And, of course, lest we forget that several years earlier, De Palma was criticized for using a body double for Angie Dickinson in her shower scene in Dressed to Kill.)

To read the rest of this discussion, click here to go to the Corner in the Cafe.

Brian De Palma Challenges Our Perception in “Blow Out”

Jack Terry (John Travolta) is a sound man, working post-production on a low-budget slasher film called Coed Frenzy. The director, unhappy with a victim’s scream, wants an entirely new library of sounds. That night, Jack, armed with a shotgun mic and tape recorder, is outside recording when he hears squealing tires and watches a car crash into a creek. He jumps into the water and, once seeing that the driver is dead, pulls a female passenger to safety. After Jack is interrogated by a detective at a local hospital, he learns that the driver was the governor, who had presidential aspirations. More significantly, Jack is told to forget that the lady, Sally (Nancy Allen), was even in the car.

Though he is told that the car had a blow out, Jack reviews his recording and hears a distinctive bang which he believes is a gunshot. Meanwhile, a sleazy photographer, Manny Karp (Dennis Franz), having captured the accident with a movie camera, is peddling his film to the tabloids. Jack pieces together stills from a magazine and creates a movie with his recorded sound, now convinced that the accident was an assassination. He stops Sally from leaving town, but he gets no help from the police, who write him off as a “conspiracy nut.” The plot only thickens when a mysterious man (John Lithgow) seems intent on a cover-up, destroying evidence and targeting Sally for murder.

Brian De Palma’s Blow Out (1981) is a stunning and memorable thriller. His films are always visually rich and intricate. They are typically about perspective, but in this film, he questions not only what a person sees but also what is heard (at one point, Jack is mocked for being an “ear witness”). Jack’s amateur investigation is initiated by his audio recording, and his conclusion that an unusual sound is from a gun is mere speculation. When he’s able to view the film, what he sees is not a revelation but simply confirmation of what he’s already suspected. The notion of sound truly takes a front seat in the film, and it helps an audience relate to a character working in an uncommon field.

That is not to say that De Palma’s camera isn’t telling the story. Many of his films have a cynical edge, a quiet criticism underlining the movie. In Blow Out, there are constant visual reminders of an upcoming Liberty Day celebration. This is functional for the plot, but also works against the political conspiracy throughout. It seems highly critical of politics or, more specifically, politicians themselves. Those who seek to be elected into office may speak of nationalism or promise to fight in favor of the country and/or state. Blow Out separates politics from an ideal such as patriotism. In this case, the road to an elected position has not a thing to do with a national belief and everything to do with whitewashing, secrecy and murder.


In Blow Out, as well as other De Palma films, what characters perceive is not necessarily the truth, and sometimes the two are contradictions. The film begins with a person’s point-of-view, but this already is an illusion, as it is footage from a movie in progress. Similarly, TV reporters are usually reporting what Jack (and the audience) knows isn’t true. The added political element of Blow Out furthers this notion by supplementing the idea that perception can be altered to manufacture a truth. When Jack challenges the request to disregard Sally’s presence at the scene, he says, “That is the truth, isn’t it?” The response he is given is an assertion of the film’s theme: “What difference does that make to you?” Jack spends so much of the film trying to obtain the truth, but the truth is ever-changing, an unstable concept that makes achieving it an impossibility.

Travolta and Allen, who had both starred in a previous De Palma film, Carrie (1976), are wonderful together. Travolta’s acting chops had almost been sidelined for music-laden gems such as Saturday Night Fever (1977), Grease (1978) and Urban Cowboy (1980), and Blow Out was a good opportunity to show his abilities. His performance is superbly understated, and though Jack is delving further into a conspiratorial plot, he remains believable and easily garners audience support. Allen, who was the director’s wife at the time and had a starring role in his previous film, Dressed to Kill (1980), plays Sally with a childlike vulnerability. It’s an interesting opposition to her character’s profession, as well as to her rugged, street-smart characters from the earlier De Palma movies. Though both actors are outstanding, the film’s highlight, in terms of acting, is Lithgow. He’s both fascinating and loathsome, but more than anything, he’s utterly terrifying. It’s a performance that reverberates for days.

Travolta and Allen are not the only cast members appearing in other De Palma films. Franz had been in The Fury (1978) and Dressed to Kill and would star in Body Double (1984). Lithgow had made an appearance in Obsession (1976) and would provide an impressive performance (playing multiple characters) in 1992’s Raising Cain. Additionally, composer Pino Donaggio, editor Paul Hirsch and cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond had all previously worked with De Palma and would work with him again.

Blow Out was a critical champion but a disappointment at the box office. This is undoubtedly due to the ending, which is depressingly ironic and may not be to everyone’s taste. The film, however, is one of De Palma’s greatest efforts. It’s an examination of the senses, questioning what people see and hear. Such is the cinema of Brian De Palma: one cannot trust anything. The only thing that is absolutely certain is that De Palma is a director of high caliber and unparalleled skill.

Phantom of the Paradise: Singing, Music, and a Crazed, Disfigured Composer on the Loose

Following his Hitchcock-inspired 1973 thriller, Sisters, Brian De Palma may have predictably directed another movie in the same vein. Instead, the director surprised critics and audiences with a film that was evidently a retelling of both the legend of Faust and Gaston Leroux' Phantom of the Opera. Incorporating elements of the thriller genre with a fantastic storyline, De Palma presented to the world Phantom of the Paradise (1974), a rock musical in only the way that he could tell it.

Winslow Leach (William Finley) is an aspiring musician/singer/composer, having nearly completed his masterpiece: a cantata based on the story of Faust. Things seem to be looking up when Swan (Paul Williams), a lucrative record producer who is never photographed, expresses interest in Winslow's work. Unfortunately, Swan wants the man's music, not the man himself. When Winslow realizes that Swan is stealing his music, he attempts to infiltrate the "Swanage" (Swan's monumental estate) and is consequently framed for pushing heroin and tossed in prison (quite appropriately in Sing Sing). The defamed composer escapes and, while sabotaging one of Swan's buildings for his label, Death Records, is disfigured when his face is caught in a record press.

Meanwhile, Swan is planning on opening his new concert hall, the Paradise, utilizing Winslow's cantata. Winslow slips into the Paradise, dons a costume and mask and becomes a menacing presence, terrifying the performers. Despite Winslow's deformity and the loss of his voice, Swan recognizes him and convinces him to rewrite his composition, to be sung by Phoenix (Jessica Harper), a woman whom Winslow met at an audition and with whom he has become enamored. The Phantom is doubtful but agrees to the terms and signs a contract (and is given his voice back electronically by Swan). However, upon completion of the cantata, Swan has Winslow locked away, and the Phantom swears vengeance.

Phantom of the Paradise is first and foremost a musical, with words and music handled by Williams, who also provided the Phantom's singing voice. Williams' music is terrific, a skillful intermingling of rock and pop music, with upbeat numbers as impressive as the ballads. Williams gives a strong showing as Swan, making the character believable with his aggressive mannerisms and his persuasive techniques, an antithesis to Williams' bright smile and short stature. Finley, having played the eerie and quaint Emil in De Palma's Sisters, ups the ante in Phantom with a performance that is gleefully theatrical. Although partially hidden behind makeup and mask, it is still Finley as the Phantom, and one of his best scenes is when he practices speaking with his new electronic box, methodically repeating Phoenix' name (and exposing his metal teeth -- a result of his "volunteering" at Sing Sing).

The highlight of Phantom of the Paradise is Jessica Harper, in her feature film debut. She is an exceptional actress, but she also has a sublime singing voice, deep and alluringly smoky, not unlike Karen Carpenter (and, as it happens, two of The Carpenters' hits, "Rainy Days and Mondays" and "We've Only Just Begun", were co-written by Williams). It's not surprising that, when Phoenix sings two solo numbers, "Special to Me" and "Old Souls", De Palma showcases Harper's performances. In fact, during the latter song, the inordinately rowdy audience at the Paradise is quiet and attentive (the only time in the course of the film). Actress Harper has appeared in a number of notable films, including Dario Argento's classic Suspiria (1977), Woody Allen's Stardust Memories (1980), and the pseudo-sequel to the cult 1975 musical The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Shock Treatment (1981). More recently, Harper has written books and released albums aimed at children. She has two daughters of her own who are featured in her books and music. Harper's husband and father to her children is Tom Rothman, co-chairman of Fox Filmed Entertainment and founder of one of its subsidiaries, Fox Searchlight Pictures.

Gerrit Graham is delightfully droll as Beef, the goth rocker hired by Swan to perform Winslow's cantata. Beef is obnoxious and boisterous onstage, but flamboyant and a tad wispy when not performing. When he is explicitly threatened by the Phantom, he has his bags packed and is out the door while a line of people are waiting to see the show! (His suitcases, of course, are adorned with glitter.) George Memmoli, as Philbin, Swan's crony, is likewise humorous.

De Palma employs an abundance of style and ingenuity to Phantom of the Paradise. While there is no Hitchcockian plot, he does include a parody of the shower scene from Hitchcock's Psycho (1960). While Beef is singing in the shower, the Phantom slowly approaches and uses a toilet plunger to silence the rocker, telling him that only Phoenix will be singing his songs. De Palma's trademark split screen is used during a sequence in which the Phantom plants a ticking time bomb in a prop car, which is then rolled onto the stage in the midst of an ongoing performance. One small but very clever method that the director used was the way in which he censored a curse from Philbin (likely to retain a PG rating). The character is speaking to Swan as a stage is being cleared of instruments in the background. But when Philbin reaches an apparent expletive, feedback from an amp prevents it from being heard.

When released in the U.S. in October 1974, Phantom of the Paradise performed poorly. However, two months later, it was released in Winnipeg, Canada, where it was hugely successful and played in theatres for four months. Likewise, the film's soundtrack sold very well, and the stores had trouble keeping it in stock. In June 1975, Paul Williams held a concert in Winnipeg, performing two sold-out shows, with ads referencing the film and Phantom of the Paradise playing in theatres again. Phantom would occasionally play theatrically through the '90s and was even shown in IMAX. In 2005, the movie was celebrated at the Phantompalooza, with a concert and a cast reunion. A Phantompalooza 2 was held the following year.

Originally, Swan's label, Death Records, was a subsidiary of parent company, Swan Song Enterprises. Unfortunately, prior to the film's release, Led Zeppelin created its own label with the very same moniker. While De Palma was able to cut or hide most signs of "Swan Song," there are instances of the original name. In one case, during an impromptu press conference (as Swan introduces Beef to reporters and photographers), a podium has clearly been matted with the Death Records logo (which is simply a bird turned upside down, apparently dead). Throughout the movie, there are occasional glimpses of the Swan Song name, usually on buildings or equipment.

Actress Sissy Spacek was credited as Set Dresser on Phantom of the Paradise, and Jack Fisk, whom she married in 1974, was Production Designer. Spacek would star in her breakout role two years later, in another De Palma film, Carrie.

At least one of the movie posters for Phantom of the Paradise defined the film as such: "The most highly acclaimed horror phantasy of our time." The same poster had the Phantom pictured as a monster, seeming to pull along a reluctant, scantily clad woman. To market the film, the horror and fantasy (or, perhaps, otherworldly) aspects were being used to draw an audience. But more than anything else, De Palma's 1974 film is a musical. It is music that drives the narrative, motivates the characters, and entertains the viewers. And it is the music that has helped Phantom of the Paradise, over 35 years after its release, remain a compelling and thoroughly enjoyable experience.

31 Days of Halloween: Sibling Rivalry and a Big Knife in Brian De Palma's Sisters

Brian De Palma is a director often accused of stealing from Hitchcock. Whether or not you're a fan of De Palma's work, it's understandable that some viewers would make such accusations. But De Palma's nods to the Master of Suspense are typically superficial, as he merely lifts the plots and presents them in a unique style. For example, Dressed to Kill (1980) begins with a shower scene. As Angie Dickinson showers, the audience is presented with her point of view (POV), and you can see a figure through the shower door. One might expect said figure to approach menacingly (an obvious Psycho reference), but it's eventually clear that he's simply using the bathroom mirror for a morning shave. Dickinson is then suddenly attacked by someone inside the shower with her. De Palma would frequently include familiar plots to play with viewers' expectations: does Jake know what he's truly seeing in Body Double (1984) [Rear Window] and is Carter suffering from murderous multiple personalities in Raising Cain (1992) [Psycho again].

Brian De Palma's first foray into the Hitchcockian thriller was his splendid 1973 movie, Sisters. Phil is a young man who is duped by a Candid Camera-esque TV show called Peeping Toms. A supposedly blind woman undresses while in a locker room with Phil, and a studio audience votes on what they believe the man will do. Following the show, Phil dines with the woman (who is, in fact, not blind), Danielle, a French-Canadian model. They spend the night together, but by the morning, Danielle is upset over an argument with her twin sister, Dominique. She asks Phil to pick up a prescription for her, and having just learned that it's the sisters' birthday, the man also stops by a bakery to have a cake made. When Phil returns, he unknowingly meets Dominique, who, in lieu of cutting the birthday cake, stabs Phil with a knife. In a nearby apartment, reporter Grace Collier witnesses the bloody encounter and telephones the police, but by the time they arrive, Danielle and her former lover, Emil, have cleaned the area and hidden the body. With the cops believing she's overzealous, Grace is determined to prove that a murder occurred in that apartment.

The Hitchcockian elements are there: a Bernard Herrmann score, shades of Psycho (check out the knife Dominique uses), etc. But the presentation of the story and the establishment of characters is vintage De Palma. One example of the director's style is the use of split screen, which he employs wonderfully after the murder: one screen shows Grace standing on the sidewalk, impatiently waiting for the cops, the other has Danielle and Emil desperately cleaning her place. It's an excellent technique to heighten suspense. He utilized the split screen to similar effect in films such as Phantom of the Paradise (1974), Carrie (1976) and Snake Eyes (1998).

Another example of De Palma's style in his frequent shifting of perspective. Keep in mind that, while Hitchcock did this in Psycho, he typically presented his protagonists' POV and stayed there for the duration of the narrative. De Palma bounces the audience around varying perspectives. Phil seems to be the protagonist, but then the viewers are suddenly with Danielle, and quickly to Grace. This is another way in which the director generates suspense, as the audience is often unaware as to people's true motives. In other words, just when the viewer believes that he/she knows a particular character, De Palma switches to an alternate perspective and said character now looks completely different. Danielle is quite innocent when she is with Phil. But she not only lies to the police when they arrive at her apartment with Grace, she's also considerably good at lying. Without giving away the ending, by the film's conclusion, a once reliable POV becomes shockingly unreliable. De Palma also toyed with perspectives in Blow Out (1981), Body Double, Snake Eyes, and even his commercial venture, Mission: Impossible (1996).

Sisters is strengthened by some exceptional acting. Margot Kidder, playing the dual role of Dominique and Danielle, is very good as both, a seemingly naive young model and a frighteningly unstable lunatic. William Finley is great at playing characters who are odd and undeniably creepy, which he proved in further De Palma productions, such as Phantom of the Paradise and a bit part in The Black Dahlia (2006). Jennifer Salt portrays Grace, and she makes a sympathetic reporter. Salt also starred in the 1972 TV film Gargoyles (another selection from this month's 31 Days of Halloween), and eventually retired from acting to pursue writing, having helmed a number of episodes of the popular FX series, Nip/Tuck. In 2006, Douglas Buck directed a lackluster remake of Sisters, starring Stephen Rea as a doctor and Chloë Sevigny as Grace.

So the next time you hear someone say, "Oh, that Brian De Palma just wants to be Hitchcock!" or if that very thought should cross your own mind, please take a step back and have another look. The director is just having fun with Hitch's theatrical plotlines. His keen visual eye and clever techiques are a grand talent not to be missed, and Sisters is one of his very best.