Femme Fatale

Utterly preposterous and totally heartfelt, excruciatingly dumb and achingly sweet, I feel like this is more like the valentine to humanity that De Palma wanted Mission to Mars to be.

The ending, I see now, is the fullest flowering of his fuzzy fantasy idea, where a dream isn’t always totally a dream.  A grace note in his other movies, here it becomes the hook that drives the entire narrative.

Rebecca Romijn takes time out from the movie to strip down to her black underwear and do Melanie Griffith’s dance from Body Double.  I assume De Palma’s quoting himself, but sometimes I just can’t tell he’s quoting himself of if he just forgot that he’d done that bit before.  Presented with a physical prop like Romijn, I can see how one might forget.

Come to think of it, he quotes himself all over the place here; I just realized that he’s even got the “twin girls, one of whom speaks with a French accent” beat from Sisters.

Antonio Banderas, I never quite realized, is rather short.  But Romijn is in heels, so.

I believe that Bill Gates might one day become United States ambassador to France, but I cannot believe that Bill Gates would fly commercial.

Body Double

When this movie came out, all anyone could talk about was the nudity, sex and outrageous violence.  That, and the shameless borrowings from Vertigo and Rear Window.

Yeah, it’s got all those things.  But De Palma uses the sex and violence the same way the villain does, as a distraction.

Because while this movie is only serviceable as a murder mystery, it’s brilliant as an art film, a dense, witty, unpredictable, multi-layered fugue on the themes of illusion, perception and reality.

Scenes from movies seem real at first, no matter how obviously fake they are, and scenes of “real life” are shot using obviously fake devices like rear-screen projection.  Characters weave in and out of reality without warning, keeping us constantly on our guard regarding what’s “really happening,” even though we’ve seen by now that “what’s really happening” is quite low on the list of things De Palma is interested in.

In interviews, Scorsese is always talking about “Well, but is it real?”  Something tells me that’s not a phrase that comes up a lot on a De Palma set, although Scorsese and De Palma have a similar discomfort with the demands of genre.  Scorsese is happy to ignore the demands of genre in order to get at the core reality of his characters, and De Palma has grown so unhappy with genre that he seems to deliberately throw silly, hackneyed plot points into his movies almost as if to remind us that we’re not supposed to take any of this as literal truth.  There isn’t “really” a psychiatrist who’s dressing up in women’s clothing to murder people, there isn’t “really” a demented subject of evil psychiactric experiments running around and murdering mothers.  De Palma isn’t interested in suspension of disbelief, he’s interested in suspense for its own sake.  And while that might seem cold, slight or elitist to some, he’s actually doing his best to invite us in to his point of view by creating movies as fiendishly entertaining as this one.

The acting in this is quite good, by the way.  Craig Wasson and Guy Boyd, to pick two, are terrific in this and I’ve never seen them in anything else.  Very strange.

And another great credit crawl.

Sisters

In spite of borrowing heavily from Psycho, this turns out to be one of De Palma’s most original movies.

For some reason, it’s never occurred to me before now just how important issues of perception and point-of-view are to De Palma.  It’s not just the voyeuristic camera and the re-tellings of stories from different points of view (although his movies have plenty of both).  In both Raising Cain and Snake Eyes, there are scenes where there are scenes dreamt or recounted by characters, which turn out to be inaccurate, colored by perception or wholly false.  And the rational filmgoer says “But that’s a cheat, that’s not how it happened.”  Well, how do we “know what happened?”  We just saw it on film; but whose point of view was being presented on film?  That is, De Palma doesn’t seem interested in how it happened, he’s interested in what a character has perceived.

There’s a scene in Snake Eyes where Gary Sinise tells Nicolas Cage What Really Happened, and we see it played out on film.  And because of the use of subjective camera, we get the feeling that we’re seeing What Really Happened from Gary’s point of view.  Later, this explanation turns out to be a total fabrication.  Then how could we see his story on film?  Well, what we’re seeing is Nicolas Cage’s perception of what he thinks Gary’s story represents.  That may seem like hair-splitting, but it marks a cinematic conceptual leap that is rather extraordinary.

Similarly, in Raising Cain there’s the rather amazing sequence where Lolita Davidovich wakes up, goes to her bureau, finds that she’s given the wrong clock to her lover, goes to her lover’s hotel to switch the clocks, then wakes up to find that she’s actually in her lover’s bed already, then later wakes up to find that she’s actually still in her own bed.  But later we find out that only part of the dream-within-a-dream is a dream, part of it happened in real life.  So what De Palma showed us was a dream that at least in part recounted a real event.  When people chide De Palma for his use of hackneyed conventions, it’s useful to remember that he also often plays with our perceptions in deep and subtle ways.

Anyway, there’s this rather incredible scene in Act III of Sisters where Jennifer Salt is told the Big Secret That Explains the Whole Movie.  And instead of having the doctor sit calmly and explain it to us (like he does at the end of Psycho), he has the doctor drug Jennifer, tie her down to the bed, hypnotise her and put her through a traumatic fake operation.  Why?  Well I’d hate to spoil things, but let’s say that he wishes to leave her in a state of confusion. 

But as a wild tale of love, loss and medical mishap is told, she undergoes a series of bizarre hallucinations, some of which seem to be almost-literal representations of truth and others which make no sense whatsoever and approach Lynchian levels of weirdness and discomfort.

And it turns out that all of this information is quite useless to Jennifer as a protagonist.

Speaking of which, another neat trick is how the doctor is introduced as The Creepy Guy who’s stalking Margot Kidder, and by the end of the movie we realize that he’s really the Only Sane Man who could have stopped a lot of death and ruined lives, had not certain horrible things happened.

Raising Cain

When this movie came out, it seemed pretty silly.  Now it seems pretty great.  Funny, weird, effective, creepy, weird.

Incredible first-act curtain, a dream within a dream within a dream.  Or is it?  And which parts?

Visual motif: Time.  And by time I mean clocks.  And by clocks I mean clock hands.  And by clock hands I mean long pointy things.

With Snake Eyes, shares a fear of drowning, head-butting and impalement.  Lots of impalement.

Tiny knives.

Wonderful long take where Frances Sternhagen explains things as she and two detectives walk through some offices, down a hall, into an elevator, out into another hall, down some stairs, through a lobby and into a morgue.  That’s how you do exposition.

Lithgow, who is varying degrees of silly thought most of the movie, is actually pretty convincing as the old Norweigian guy.

“Jesus, stop, you’re going to kill somebody with that sundial!”

Snake Eyes

Sometimes one has to make a conceptual leap in order to enjoy a filmmaker’s work. I didn’t enjoy Barry Lyndon for years, until I noticed that Kubrick was copying certain compositions directly from paintings from the era he was depicting. Once I understood that he was making a movie, a 20th-century art form, of a story from the 18th century, using the images and rhythms that people of that time would have understood, the movie suddenly became hugely interesting, sweeping and involving on the level of The Shining or Clockwork Orange, and is now one of my favorite Kubrick films.

In the case of Snake Eyes, I find that once I give up the notion that I’m watching a movie about human beings, with any connection to logic, it similarly becomes quite enjoyable. I don’t mean that as a snarky comment.  It’s just that if you’re expecting a conventional thriller on the level of, say, The Bourne Identity (a movie I love), you’re bound to be disappointed.  You wouldn’t expect a conventional gangster picture from Godard or a conventional noir from Truffaut, yet when DePalma plays with genre even a little bit people sigh and roll their eyes.

Pure DePalma, the movie is about a handful of suspenseful situations that DePalma can use to weave his magic spell of dread, bitterness and cynicism.  It begins with a stunning, 12-minute take that follows Nicolas Cage around the main set.  Not just a show-offy trick (like, say, the impressive 5-minute take at the beginning of Bonfire of the Vanities), the take offers an encapsulation of the entire narrative, the moment that we’re going to spend the rest of the movie scrutinizing from different points of view, some authentic and some not.  Hugely skillful in his manipulation of our sensibilities, DePalma puts key events at the edge of the frame or even out of frame (hey Paramount, this DVD is the crappiest transfer I’ve seen since 1941), things that only make sense when we see them again from another point of view.

There are two long expository scenes, one where Nicolas Cage literally stops the movie in the middle of a hair’s-breadth chase scene to say “Let’s sit down and talk for a second,” and the other where The Bond Villain Explains The Whole Conspiracy To The Protagonist At Gunpoint, and you can sense DePalma unhappy with having to include these scenes at all.  He knows he has to or else the movie won’t make any sense, but he shoots them in completely straightforward ways, this from a director who otherwise doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the word “straightforward.”  It’s like he’s saying “okay, fine, you need this scene?  Fine.  You sit and watch the two actors explain the story, I’m going out back for a smoke.”

My favorite credit crawl, second only to Seven.

While the ending hinges on an absurd confluence of coincidental events, I give DePalma credit for not making the ending as happy as he could have.  It’s also worth noting that the conspiracy theory that the movie hinges on, which seemed silly and baroquely implausible to me ten years ago now sounds sober, well-reasoned and straightforward by today’s political standards.

I would very much like to see DePalma go whole hog and make an entire movie in one take, like Hitchcock tried in Rope, but with a story on this scale.  Snake Eyes practically plays out in real time anyway, I don’t know why he didn’t try it here.

BONUS WEIRDNESS: Nicolas Cage plays a character named Rick Santorum, and there is a Richard Santorum thanked in the end credits.  Likewise, Gary Sinise plays a character named Kevin Dunne, and there is a scene where he is interviewed by another actor whose real name is Kevin Dunn.