The intriguing question of lineage hangs over the documentary De Palma, which illustrates through clips and candid conversation the colorful career of director Brian De Palma. The film is a loving and entertaining homage by the younger directors Noah Baumbach and Jake Paltrow, who claim De Palma as a friend, mentor, and influence, but it raises the question: if De Palma is such an influence to these men, why do they make films nothing like his? Of course, it’s hardly a crime to enjoy one kind of film while making another, but it’s merely one more indicator of the modern dearth of De Palma-esque films.
This is mostly puzzling because on the other end of the lineage equation, De Palma is an almost direct stylistic descendant of Alfred Hitchcock, who is probably the most universally canonized director today. The name Hitchcock has become synonymous with certain techniques and his films still draw big crowds at revival screenings. If loving Hitchcock is an oath of fealty for cinephiles, why is our closest modern version languishing on the fringes of the cinematic landscape? It could be his late career decline or the fact that even during his heyday critics were bitterly divided over his work. Considering that both of these were also true of Hitchcock, perhaps this film presages a critical reassessment.
De Palma is formally very simple, consisting of an orderly progression through De Palma’s career along with clips from both his films and other films that served as touchstones. Rather than interviewing critics or other filmmakers for a balanced view, only De Palma speaks, gaining in intimacy and depth what it loses in context. De Palma is an engaging guide to his films and the era they emerged from, giving a good general impression of his New Hollywood cohort garnished with entertaining anecdotes (it’s very fun to hear about Steven Spielberg fresh off of E.T. adding more explosions to the climactic shootout in Scarface). Fittingly, the interview recalls Truffaut’s interview of Hitchcock in that while De Palma is willing to say almost anything about his filmmaking process, he is considerably tighter lipped about his personal life; one story revealing that the spying Keith Gordon character in Dressed to Kill was based off of him spying on and confronting his adulterous father suggests there is more personal torment and expression in his films than he likes to let on.
Since De Palma’s career began, his friend Scorcese’s technique of using pop songs for scores has become the norm, but this film reminds the viewer how powerful the orchestral soundtracks are in his films is and he recalls stories of working with legends like Bernard Hermann and Ennio Morricone. But De Palma has always been first and foremost a lushly visual director and the best parts of the documentary are the parts where he explains his most elaborate shots and the rationale behind them. Many of the greatest moments in De Palma’s films work without sound, using only visual language. This is the true legacy of Hitchcock (who honed his aesthetic in the silent era) and what most modern directors of thrillers lack the aptitude to provide. Even if De Palma’s films had outlandish plots or an excess of violence, he was speaking in a uniquely cinematic language that few modern directors can emulate and that fewer audiences can appreciate while watching at home on small screens. In addition, De Palma came of age at a unique time when a daring director could be entrusted with the resources of a major studio, whereas today a director like De Palma would likely be working independently with a shoestring budget (as he himself is). But history doesn’t move in straight lines, and maybe a young director will see this film and be inspired to recreate the florid visuals of Hitchcock or De Palma. De Palma is both an engaging story of one man’s life, an edifying look at the process of filmmaking, and simply a fun look at a lifetime of fun movies.
