The New Biographical Dictionary of Film: Completely Updated and Expanded (111 page)

De Palma wanted to make more popular pictures—a very American trait, but a good illustration of the choice between independence and commercialism that faces the film student. The turning point was
Sisters
, an artful homage to Hitchcock. It is a psychological suspense film, drawing upon
Psycho
but still raw with the background naturalism of student films. That has long since faded and been replaced with studied picture compilation. In
The Fury
, even, one sequence relies on back projection. De Palma absorbed Hitchcock’s storyboard preparation, and his films are easily the closest screen approximation to the master’s grid system for anguished characters. The elegance of the pictures is in churlish opposition to the pain the people suffer.

Phantom of the Paradise
may be De Palma’s best film yet in that it needs florid artificiality and brimstone imagery. Its reworking of an old movie legend (Opera becomes Rock) is striking and witty, and there is a gusto to the picture that carries the elements of grand guignol lightly.
Obsession
was
Vertigo
at sleepwalking pace as De Palma stepped in Hitchcock’s footprints: it was not helped by the numbed performances of Cliff Robertson and Geneviève Bujold.

Carrie
is anything but turgid, but crazy with startling presence and sensational event. It was De Palma’s greatest hit, and his most showy film. To its credit, the uncomfortable feverishness of teenage menstruation is captured, thanks in part to Sissy Spacek’s arrested-development Medusa. But the cruelty of the plot, the poisoned sundae of humiliation, revivalist hysteria, and telekinetic effects are grotesque. It is a parody of a wellmade film, as it keeps on battering you with its own style. Can a holocaust be tidy too? At times, the color does rise above the director’s knowing glee. The ending is without rival and undeniably cathartic. But
Carrie
is the work of a glittering, callous surgeon who left his knife in the body.

The Fury
is incoherent, silly, and just as removed from real feelings and pain. It is a Frank Yablans production, and De Palma may not have been as free as he was on
Carrie
. That high-school cockpit at least afforded him a concentrated piece of action, and a plot that was a single, vicious spiral.
The Fury
shows only his inability to negotiate a complex story: he lacks faith in the depth or mystery of people; he cannot even sustain an anecdote.
The Fury
, like
Carrie
, ends in an outburst of destruction that would be appalling (rather than trite) if there were any real people in the film.

De Palma has lost many of his old allies in the last decades—and he hasn’t won me. Even his more noted films dismay me:
Dressed to Kill
is loony, despite some good sequences;
Body Double
is close to insane, despite a few hysterical sequences;
The Untouchables
is no more than the sum of good things in its actors—plus Sean Connery’s death scene;
Casualties of War
struck me as exploitation. And there is not one good scene in
Bonfire of the Vanities
.

But
Scarface
is something else: an authentic black comedy, with red for blood, white for cocaine, and that overall smeared look so true to Miami. Give Oliver Stone credit for the script. The film was also the real debut of Michelle Pfeiffer, and it had a Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio still as fresh as jalapeño. There are fine performances from F. Murray Abraham, Harris Yulin, Steven Bauer, and Robert Loggia. Pacino is delirious with accent, coke, and the sinuousness of his own genius. The richness of the film begins in his having such a ball. But I give De Palma credit, too, and hereby admit that I prefer it to the Hawks version.

On the other hand,
Carlito’s Way
had little except the director’s nostalgia for the danger and riot of
Scarface
, and set-piece sequences that exemplify the nullity of “movie genius” when it has no ideas.

I’d be surprised if De Palma still has followers enough to argue against the proposition that everything from
Snakes Eyes
to
The Black Dahlia
has to be included with his worst work.

Gérard Depardieu
, b. Chateauroux, France, 1948
Depardieu has the air of a rugby player (after a game played in heavy mud) crossed with a great violinist—he is Charles Laughton, yet he has eyes worthy of Montgomery Clift. Thus, he has managed on several occasions to be a thug, a lout, a brute even, who has an inner reticence that belies his appearance. The fascination has easily traveled beyond his native France. Depardieu is an “international” actor, yet he shows no sign of being able to improve his English enough to play a lead role in an English-speaking film. Still, no actor is more industrious—and Depardieu has never given up his allegiance to theatre. A little over fifty, he is not far from one hundred films, many of which have only been made bankable by his willingness to take a chance.

He came from humble origins, and he was a street kid who led a rough, unsavory life. But he has an authentic, self-trained identification with literature and drama that may not be far from Olivier’s love of the classics. Depardieu has done plenty of “modern roles,” but he seems more inspired by period and costume. It could be no undue stretch of the imagination to see Depardieu playing Tamburlaine, Shylock, and Stanley Kowalski—or Hamlet, Romeo, and Charles Bovary. He has an appetite, or capacity, that could take on anyone—he has called himself less a star than a storyteller, a balladeer.

As far as I can tell, his debut was in a short film,
Le Beatnik et le Minet
(65, Roger Leenhardt). But by the early seventies, he had begun the hardworking career that he has never abandoned:
Le Cri du Cormoran le Soir Au-Dessus des Jonques
(70, Michel Audiard);
Un Peu de Soleil dans l’Eau Froide
(71, Jacques Deray);
Le Tueur
(71, Denys de la Patelliere);
L’Affaire Dominici
(71, Claude Bernard-Aubert);
Nathalie Granger
(72, Marguerite Duras);
Au RendezVous de la Mort Joyeuse
(72, Juan Buñuel);
La Scoumoune
(72, José Giovanni);
Le Viager
(72, Pierre Tcherina);
Deux Hommes dans la Ville
(73, Giovanni);
Les Gaspards
(73, Tcherina); and
Rude Journée pour la Reine
(73, Rene Alio).

It was his role as the free-ranging, existential terrorist roadie in
Going Places
(74, Bertrand Blier) that established Depardieu. But he was just as good as the briefly seen shy inventor of the metroscope in
Stavisky
(74, Alain Resnais). He then did
La Femme du Gange
(74, Duras);
Vincent, François, Paul et les Autres
(74, Claude Sautet);
Pas Si Méchant Que Ça
(74, Claude Goretta);
Maîtresse
(74, Barbet Schroeder);
7 Morts sur Ordonnance
(75, Jacques Rouffio);
Je T’Aime, Moi Non Plus
(75, Serge Gainsbourg);
Calmos
(75, Blier); the peasant in
1900
(76, Bernardo Bertolucci); as the helpless male who mutilates himself in
L’Ultima Donna
(76, Marco Ferreri); and
Barocco
(76, André Téchiné).

He was in two more Marguerite Duras films—
Baxter, Vera Baxter
(76) and
Le Camion
(77)—and he was in
The Left-Handed Woman
(77, Peter Handke);
Dites-Lui Que J’Aime
(77, Claude Miller);
Get Out Your Handkerchiefs
(77, Blier);
Les Chiens
(78, Alain Jessua);
Rêve de Singe
(78, Ferreri);
Le Sucre
(78, Rouffio); a kind of idiotic murderer in
Buffet Froid
(79, Blier);
Mon Oncle d’Amérique
(79, Resnais); as the “wild thing” lover in
Loulou
(80, Maurice Pialat);
The Last Metro
(80, François Truffaut); and
Inspecteur la Bavure
(80, Claude Zidi).

By the early eighties, he was able to work a little less often, but with no lack of daring:
Le Choix des Armes
(81, Alain Corneau);
The Woman Next Door
(81, Truffaut);
Danton
(82, Andrzej Wajda);
The Return of Martin Guerre
(82, Daniel Vigne);
The Moon in the Gutter
(83, Jean-Jacques Beneix);
Fort Saganne
(84, Corneau); a movie version of a stage production of
Le Tartuffe
(84), which he directed himself;
Les Compères
(84, Francis Veber);
Une Femme ou Deux
(85, Vigne);
Police
(85, Pialat);
Les Fugitifs
(86, Veber);
Jean de Florette
(86, Claude Berri); as a homosexual in
Ménage
(86, Blier);
Sous le Soleil de Satan
(87, Pialat); as Rodin in
Camille Claudel
(87, Bruno Nuytten); and
A Strange Place to Meet
(88, François Dupeyron).

He had a great international success in
Cyrano de Bergerac
(89, Jean-Paul Rappeneau);
Je Veux Rentre à la Maison
(89, Resnais);
Too Beautiful for You
(89, Blier); trying to stay in the United States in
Green Card
(90, Peter Weir);
Uranus
(91, Berri);
Merci la Vie
(91, Blier); as Columbus in
1492: Conquest of Paradise
(92, Ridley Scott), one of his few unequivocal failures; playing with his son, Guillaume, as Marin Marais in
Tous les Matins du Monde
(92, Corneau);
Germinal
(93, Berri);
My Father, the Hero
(93, Steve Miner);
Hélas pour Moi
(93, Jean-Luc Godard).

Depardieu has often played men in history or fiction hounded and obsessed: Balzac, Jean Valjean, the Count of Monte Cristo. It seems clear that he sees himself in that light, for no one works harder—not even Robert De Niro. Not that Depardieu’s choice of roles is often cynical. It seems as if every role entails upheaval; he is so seldom casual. And I fear he’s paying the price of being so committed and demanding. Am I alone in feeling that I’ve seen his every mood and urge, over and over again? Does he not begin to be tedious?

As you consider that, here is the record:
Una Pura Formalità
(94, Giuseppe Tornatore);
Le Colonel Chabert
(94, Yves Angelo);
La Machine
(94, Francois Dupeyron);
Elisa
(95, Jean Becker);
The Horseman on the Roof
(95, Rappeneau);
Les Anges Gardiens
(95, Jean-Marie Poire);
Le Garçu
(95, Pialat);
Unhook the Stars
(96, Nick Cassavetes);
Bogus
(96, Norman Jewison);
The Secret Agent
(96, Christopher Hampton);
Le Plus Beau Métier du Monde
(96, Gerard Lauzier);
Hamlet
(96, Kenneth Branagh);
XXL
(97, Ariel Zeitoun); Porthos in
The Man in the Iron Mask
(98, Randall Wallace);
La Parola Amore Esiste
(98, Mimmo Calopresti); to TV for
Le Comte de Monte Cristo
(98, Josee Dayan);
Bimboland
(98, Zeitoun);
Astérix et Obélix Contre César
(99, Zidi);
The Bridge
(99, Depardieu and Frederic Auburtin)—and one of his poorest;
Balzac
(99, Dayan)—one of his best.

Breathe
—Mirka
(99, Rachid Benhaj);
Tutto l’Amore Che C’è
(00, Sergio Rubini);
Vatel
(00, Roland Joffe); Valjean in
Les Misérables
(00, Dayan);
Bérénice
(00, Jean-Daniel Verhaeghe);
Zavist Bogov
(00, Vladimir Menshov);
102 Dalmatians
(00, Kevin Lima);
The Closet
(00, Veber);
Concorrenza Sleale
(01, Ettore Scola);
C.Q
. (01, Roman Coppola);
Vidocq
(01, Pitof);
City of Ghosts
(01, Matt Dillon);
Astérix & Obélix: Mission Cléopâtre
(01, Alain Chabat).

He still works as hard as Cagney at Warners (yet not as amusingly):
I Am Dina
(02, Ole Bornedal);
Aime Ton Père
(02, Jacob Berger);
Between Strangers
(02, Edoardo Ponti); as D’Artagnan in
Blanche
(02, Bernie Bonvoisin); as Fouché in the TV miniseries,
Napoléon
(02, Yves Simoneau);
Ruy Blas
(02, Jacques Weber);
Le Pacte du Silence
(03, Graham Guit);
Crime Spree
(03, Brad Mirman);
Bon Voyage
(03, Rappeneau);
Volpone
(03, Auburtin);
Tais-Toi
(03, Veber);
RRRrrrr!!!
(04, Alain Chabat);
Nathalie …
(04, Anne Fontaine);
Les Temps Qui Changent
(04, André Techiné);
How Much Do You Love Me?
(05, Blier);
Olé
(05, Florence Quentin);
Last Holiday
(06, Wayne Wang);
Quand J’Étais Chanteur
(06, Xavier Giannoli); acting and directing in
Paris, Je T’Aime
(07); as Louis Leplée in
La Vie en Rose
(07, Olivier Dahan);
Michou d’Auber
(07, Thomas Gilou);
L’Abuffata
(07, Mimmo Calopresti);
Astérix at the Olympic Games
(08, Frédéric Forestier and Thomas Langmann);
Disco
(08, Fabian Onteniente);
Babylon A.D
. (08, Mathieu Kassovitz);
Public Enemy Number One
(08, Jean-François Richet);
In The Beginning
(09, Giannoli);
Bellamy
(09, Claude Chabrol).

Johnny
(John Christopher)
Depp
, b. Owensboro, Kentucky, 1963
Depp has had the press of someone following in Sean Penn’s image—damage to hotels, lurid tattoos, troubled love affairs with actresses, and an overall moody aloofness. But his screen character is very different. There, he is gentle, benign, nearly mystical, and entirely enterprising. For an actor with a huge following, and many mainstream offers, Depp studiously avoided blockbusters at first and cast his lot with more adventurous projects. It’s hard to think of another actor of his generation who would have done
Ed Wood
(94, Tim Burton) or been so happy exploring the man’s bland enthusiasms amid a supporting cast with stronger or more obvious roles to play. He is already a legend of dedication.