Sunday at the Arcade
Blow Out (1981)
directed by Brian De Palma
rating: 4 out of 5 cravats
on DVD from Netflix
I love Brian De Palma's movies, and I heard so much about Blow Out without ever being able to rent it on DVD that I expected the cinematic equivalent of a plate of enchiladas at Padilla's. But that out-of-print tag is a will o' the wisp, and as good as Blow Out might be, Body Double is better, and that's been available on home video for years. It isn't a matter of preference so much as an example of a director refining his skills. Blow Out is broadly cynical (corruption and cover-ups surround us) but still stymied by the fictionalized account of Chappaquiddick that anchors the plot. Travolta's Jack Terry is swept into the mess primarily because he believes that a wrong was committed that only he has the resources to right in the public eye. Nancy Allen's Sally, initially a pawn, keeps his attention, but whether or not Jack falls in love with her seems secondary to his moral mission.
It's a moral film, and inevitably, kind of preachy. In Body Double, obsession is the motivating factor for the protagonist's bad decisions. With fewer real-life headlines to distract the audience, De Palma is able to imagine a world that feels more like a half-scary, half-ecstatic dream than most other pictures I've seen. Dreams are a lot more fun than the Kennedys, but there's plenty to enjoy about Blow Out anyway, from the tactile, almost sensual impression of soundcraft in a movie studio to the charms of John Travolta at 26 and especially Nancy Allen at 30.
Mary Duncan was five years older than Charles Farrell in City Girl, a movie I just happened to watch recently and loved. The difference in age is a clue about great directors and how they make movies. What it says, I'm not sure, but little things - like a scream - add up.
directed by Brian De Palma
rating: 4 out of 5 cravats
on DVD from Netflix
I love Brian De Palma's movies, and I heard so much about Blow Out without ever being able to rent it on DVD that I expected the cinematic equivalent of a plate of enchiladas at Padilla's. But that out-of-print tag is a will o' the wisp, and as good as Blow Out might be, Body Double is better, and that's been available on home video for years. It isn't a matter of preference so much as an example of a director refining his skills. Blow Out is broadly cynical (corruption and cover-ups surround us) but still stymied by the fictionalized account of Chappaquiddick that anchors the plot. Travolta's Jack Terry is swept into the mess primarily because he believes that a wrong was committed that only he has the resources to right in the public eye. Nancy Allen's Sally, initially a pawn, keeps his attention, but whether or not Jack falls in love with her seems secondary to his moral mission.
It's a moral film, and inevitably, kind of preachy. In Body Double, obsession is the motivating factor for the protagonist's bad decisions. With fewer real-life headlines to distract the audience, De Palma is able to imagine a world that feels more like a half-scary, half-ecstatic dream than most other pictures I've seen. Dreams are a lot more fun than the Kennedys, but there's plenty to enjoy about Blow Out anyway, from the tactile, almost sensual impression of soundcraft in a movie studio to the charms of John Travolta at 26 and especially Nancy Allen at 30.
Mary Duncan was five years older than Charles Farrell in City Girl, a movie I just happened to watch recently and loved. The difference in age is a clue about great directors and how they make movies. What it says, I'm not sure, but little things - like a scream - add up.
posted by NPK at 5:08 AM
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