The Fury (1978) By Michael Campochiaro of Starfire Lounge

Let’s get this out of the way at the start: I’m a Brian De Palma fanatic. Of the New Hollywood directors who got their starts in the 1960s and 1970s, many are certified legends with their own signature styles, but none of them can touch De Palma’s purely batshit crazy resume, especially during the 1970s. And during those years none of them worked as consistently within the milieu of horror as De Palma, either. From harrowing, Siamese-twin shocker Sisters (1973) to demented rock opera Phantom of the Paradise (1974) to telekinetic teen terror Carrie (1976) and beyond, De Palma crafted some of the most bizarre and memorable films of the decade.

Carrie is as close to a perfect movie as one can get. It’s quite possibly De Palma’s best, in my estimation—technical prowess, emotional impact, and excellent performances meld into something truly transcendent. That might be why the film he followed it with in 1978, The Fury—also about telekinetic teens—was practically doomed to second fiddle status from the start. That’s a shame because, while The Fury is far from perfect, it’s as compellingly strange as anything De Palma has ever made.

Part supernatural horror, part espionage thriller, with even some comic interludes that seem ported over from another movie, The Fury is the sort of movie that makes me feel confident to declare it unlike any other movie ever made. I like this strange mixture quite a bit, although the script is kind of a mess and inexplicably convoluted. It stars Kirk Douglas as a man on a mission, trying to rescue his supernaturally gifted son from a shady government organization intent on using him and other special kids as weapons in warfare. Douglas might seem an odd fit for this movie, but the man brings it! Whether he’s surviving speed boat explosions, leaping out of buildings in his boxer shorts, or applying shoe polish to his hair while munching on bacon (don’t ask), I’m just happy to go along for the ride with him. Ethereal Amy Irving (hot off her fantastic performance as Sue Snell in Carrie) as a telekinetic teen with extra-sensory perception is—you guessed it—ethereal. And like Carrie White, her character Gillian also kicks major ass in the end, and it’s glorious. John Cassavetes is deliciously dastardly and Andrew Stevens’ performance is intense—he’s really good at nose flaring. The death scenes are insanely gruesome and bloody in the grand De Palma tradition.

The Fury also contains plenty of the director’s signature style with some extraordinary shots, including a wonderful, lengthy, slow-motion sequence that is absolutely mesmerizing. I hadn’t seen the film in decades, but its slow charms are intoxicating, to the point that I can’t stop thinking about it since a recent rewatch. In that way, it’s the sort of movie that works its way into your heart and stays there forever.

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