Needless to say, Thomson is no less harsh with Hitchcock’s greatest impersonator Brian De Palma (Carrie, Scarface), who I have always considered a sort of obnoxiously self-satisfied and pedantic hack of the obscenely over-glorified sort who makes highly technically competent yet largely superficial and one-dimensional grade A big budget exploitation movies that film students, fanboys, and sexually impotent beta-male misogynists assumedly enjoy beating off to. Naturally, one also cannot take a director too seriously whose superficially stylish and machismo-marinated spick gangster films like Scarface (1983) and Carlito's Way (1993) are literally worshiped as the virtual Gospel by rappers, wiggers, ghetto negroes, and various other forms of gutter grade untermenschen rabble who typically have about as much respect for the artistic medium of film as they do for laws and literacy. Of course, De Palma’s films are even more contrived and manufactured looking than Hitchcock’s, as they are mostly fairly soulless and spiritually vacant cinematic works that are virtually all artifice and seem like they were more the product of a engineer’s mind than that of a serious artist or poet, but then again he probably would have never obtained mainstream acceptance were he actually a artist or poet. Naturally, I am probably a little biased, but the cinematic works of largely forgotten auteur filmmakers like frog avant-gardist Yvan Lagrange (Tristan et Iseult, Dérive 'Le naufrage de Vénus') or Aussie hippie mad scientist Albie Thoms (Marinetti, Rita and Dundi) are infinitely more important and intriguing to me than some ex-arthouse poser like De Palma, whose arguable greatest talent is utilizing techniques from the experimental underground like split-screen as a novel gimmick that slightly differentiates him from the legions of soulless for-hire whores and artistically autistic artisans that prostitute themselves to the lawyers, businessmen, Cadillac commies and Israeli spies that rule Tinseltown. Of course, it is no coincidence that De Palma has a strong affinity for creating conspicuously cinephiliac cinematic works where the mechanics of the filmmaking process are actually incorporated into the film, as it highlights his sort of super literal and sterile view of cinema. Not surprisingly, De Palma is also arguably at his best when directing such covert cineaste pieces as his pre-Scarface output clearly demonstrates. Thankfully, quite unlike his bastard half-wop disciple Tarantino, De Palma also displays a degree of elegance and nuance when paying tribute to his cinematic masters, but cinephilia will only get you so far when it comes to being a truly formidable filmmaker.
A rare Italian-American from a Protestant background, De Palma had a banal bourgeois upbringing that was only unconventional in the sense that he began playing peeping tom on his own father when he discovered that the patriarch was cheating on his mother with another woman, hence his obsession with paying homage to the shameless voyeurism of Rear Window. Not surprising considering his dubious cinematic portrayals of women and troubled real-life personal relationships with women, De Palma also had a cold and callous mother that oftentimes reminded him of the fact that he was an accident and treated him as inferior to his eldest brother. Notably, De Palma’s philandering father was a respected orthopedic surgeon and as Thomson somewhat hilariously noted regarding one of his most famous films, “…CARRIE is the work of a glittering, callous surgeon who left his knife in the body.” Aside from developing an odd obsession with watching his physician father getting physical with random women when he was a boy, De Palma was also a tech dork that was obsessed with conspiracy theories, most notably the JFK assassination. Naturally, De Palma's contempt for his white bourgeois family and mistrust of the government as a result of JFK getting his brains blown out under quite dubious circumstances would ultimately lead to him adopting an ethno-masochistic Weltanschauung that would prove to be beneficial to his filmmaking career.
Luckily, Karp attempts to rape Sally when she goes by his apartment, thus giving the happy-go-lucky harlot the opportunity to smash a bottle over his head and then steal the 16mm film reel while her would-be-rapist is unconscious. Somewhat humorously, before attempting to sexually ravage Sally, Manny defends their role in the assassination of McRyan by stating to her while simultaneously taking a leak, “Besides, nobody is exactly crying over the way things turned out, if you know what I mean. What would have happened if the guy had have lived, huh? His career was finished, thanks to us. This way, uh, the guy comes out ahead, huh? He’s a saint. A martyr. Christ, they passed one of his bills this morning.” While Jack now has all the evidence he needs to prove that someone shot out Governor McRyan’s tire, he does not realize that Burke has tapped his phone and knows about his plans to go on Donahue's show. Fully aware of the fact that she has no clue who Donahue is and thus would not recognize his voice, Burke calls Sally while pretending to be the newscaster and manages to coerce her into meeting him at 30th Street Station at 5:00pm with both Jack’s audio recording and Karp’s footage. Luckily, just before Sally leaves, Jack stops her and convinces her to wear a wire since he finds the meetup with Donahue to be somewhat fishy, stating, “I’m gonna cover all the bases. Nobody’s gonna fuck me this time. This way if he disappears with the film…he can’t pretend he didn’t take it, ‘cause I got him on tape.” While Jack makes a copy of his recording, he unfortunately does not have time to make another print of Karp’s film.
Admittedly, I have to give De Palma credit in one regard in that he portrayed the man that was responsible for filming the fictional assassination as a sleazy Hebraic character with a fittingly repugnant name like Manny Karp. After all, Abraham Zapruder, who made a lot of money off of his home movie of the president getting his brains blow out, was a Russian Jewish businessman and the JFK assassination has many obvious and not so obvious Jewish connections, not least of all Lee Harvey Oswald’s mob-connected strip club owner assassin Jack Ruby (whose real name was Jacob Leonard Rubenstein). It should also be noted that De Palma's screenwriter for Scarface, half-Jew Oliver Stone, would renew interest in the assassination with his obscenely overrated epic JFK (1991), which was curiously executive produced by Israeli arms dealer and Mossad operative Arnon Milchan. As revealed in the rather sympathetic pro-Zionist book Confidential: The Life of Secret Agent Turned Hollywood Tycoon - Arnon Milchan (2011) co-written by Hebraic tribesmen Meir Doron and Joseph Gelman, Milchan's spy work involved gathering important nuclear documents by dubious means and “buying components to build and maintain Israel’s nuclear arsenal,” thus it should be no surprise that he would produce a piece of glossy misinformation like Stone's film, which is nothing more than the covert Judaisierung of the JFK assassination. Rather revealingly, while JFK is about former New Orleans district attorney Jim Garrison and his investigation into the cover-up of the assassination, it conveniently never mentions the fact that he eventually came to the conclusion that Mossad was the driving force behind the conspiracy. Of course, as Blow Out reveals, De Palma, like his semi-Semitic pal Stone, believes the JFK assassination was some sort of vast right-wing conspiracy. As ex-Mossad agent Victor Ostrovsky revealed in his book, By Way of Deception: The Making and Unmaking of a Mossad Officer (1990), which Israel tried to stop the release of via a preliminary injunction, the former motto of the Mossad was, “By Way Of Deception Thou Shalt Do War,” but of course that is the sort of thing that De Palma would actively ignore, as it contradicts his anti-WASP narrative. Notably, De Palma would symbolically demonstrate his solidarity with god’s chosen tribe in his horrendous black comedy Wise Guys (1986) where the protagonists, a low-level guido gangster and his Jewish pal, realize their mutual multicultural dream of opening the world's first Jewish-Italian delicatessen.
As far as I am concerned, De Palma is, at best, a very capable slasher/giallo film director and hyper Hitchcock fetishist who is very adept at taking a sophisticated and elegant approach to largely mindless entertainment, thus putting him above most Hollywood directors. With the possible exceptions of his underrated horror musical Phantom of the Paradise (1974) and pleasantly politically incorrect killer tranny classic Dressed to Kill (1980), I would have to argue that Blow Out is De Palma’s finest achievement as a filmmaker. Indeed, had De Palma only died in a car wreck after making the film, I might have more appreciation for him as a filmmaker, but it is hard to like a self-loathing bourgeois leftist who, aside from directing films for the NAACP, had the audacious arrogance to direct a phony self-important film like Casualties of War where he displays his hypocritical class biases by portraying young white working-class soldiers as evil racist rapists and psychopaths (it should also be noted that, like all of his cinematic works, the film is derivative and is actually based on an event that was already depicted nearly two decades before in kraut commie Michael Verhoeven's scandalous anti-American film O.K. (1970), which hilariously stars one-time Fassbinder superstar Eva Mattes as a teenage Vietnamese rape victim). After all, De Palma has made a career out of making sleazy films depicting women being brutally murdered by perverts, yet he had the gall to make an ostensibly serious anti-rape/anti-war. One also cannot forget that De Palma is a proud draft-dodger, thus making his condemnation of white prole GIs seem like a craven act of projection where he condemns the very same unprivileged members of the European-American working-class that fought and died in the Vietnam War while he was making anti-American agitprop featuring negroes raping white women and Jewish psychopaths committing terrorist attacks like in his experimental agitprop piece Hi, Mom!, but of course it takes a special sort of hypocritical degenerate to truly thrive in Hollywood.
Needless to say, it is no surprise that De Palma and Nancy Allen divorced a couple years after the release of Blow Out, as it cannot be a good sign for the future of a marriage when a husband depicts his wife as a dumb broad that lives off her tits and ass who is ultimately brutally murdered in the end (not to mention the fact that the filmmaker had Allen portray a hooker in his previous film Dressed to Kill where the actress shows off her unclad carnal goods and talks dirty to Michael Caine in regard to his cock). In fact, despite the fact that Allen is terribly claustrophobic and was completely petrified about shooting the segment, De Palma forced her to do her own stunts during the scene in Blow Out where she is trapped inside a car that is submerged in water. In that one regard, De Palma has indeed transcended his cinematic hero Hitch, as a man with self-confessed mommy issues who advanced the art of semi-covert sadistic ‘high kitsch’ filmic misogyny, which arguably reaches its unintentionally zany twentieth in Body Double (1984).
With his most recent feature Passion (2012), De Palma proved he is not very good at remaking European pseudo-arthouse films or dealing with the subject of Sapphic psychopaths. Personally, I think De Palma should just get it over with and finally realize his dream of remaking a Hitchcock film. Considering De Palma's flare for deliciously stylized psychosexual degeneracy and the fact that Hitchcock's version is a little bit too tame and somewhat resembles filmed theater, I think it is about time that he remakes the Leopold and Loeb inspired Nietzschean classic Rope (1948). After all, considering De Palma's philo-Semitism and fetish for crafty killers, it seems like the perfect subject matter for him to tackle.