Obsession consciously creates a ghostly dialogue with Vertigo, constructing a similar labyrinth of deception, desire and derangement. Like Hitchcock’s film, it is an ambivalent interrogation of haunted memories and male fantasy, exploring an almost necrophilic love through its increasingly unstable lead, with its psychological traumas lashed to a far-fetched mystery plot. Despite ostensibly realistic settings (in San Francisco and New Orleans respectively), both films require viewers to immerse themselves in their rich, dreamlike atmosphere. Their narratives are driven more by recurring images and repeating patterns than by objective logic, building a maelstrom of uncertain identities and uncanny echoes.

The opening of Obsession serves to establish the tone and visual motifs of the film. If Saul Bass’s celebrated title sequence for Vertigo emphasises the perfidious qualities of speech and visual perception, focussing on a female mouth and eye before spiralling into the depths of her pupil, Obsession highlights the unreliability of recollection, while preparing us for the slippery notions of time and fate that will define the story.

Various snapshots slide into the frame alongside the credits. Weathered and a little blurred, they fill only a small portion of the dark screen; like memories, the images are partial and incomplete. Interspersed with the photographs is a full-screen view of a grand Italian-style church, the camera drawing ominously towards its densely geometric exterior as if it were a carefully designed trap. The church also appears in the snapshots, creating a jarring effect that undermines any attempt to understand when the different images are from and how they are related – they share a location, but do not seem to belong in the same timeframe. We are given no context or identification for the pictures until a hand-written note appears in the final one: Florence, 1948. Yet as soon as the date seems settled, we move elsewhere, gradually creeping towards a mansion whose windows lighten and darken rhythmically. As we realise that the occupants are watching the very slideshow we have just been viewing, onscreen text identifies the year as 1959 and the place as New Orleans, a world away from Romanesque churches and post-war Europe. Less than three minutes have passed, but already our sense of time and destination have deliberately been confused, and not for the last time.

The prominence of the church in the opening credits alerts us that it will be important to the story (much like Vertigo’s Mission San Juan Bautista), but the way in which we next see it is both revealing and unexpected. The slides we saw depicted Michael and Elizabeth in Florence at the start of their relationship, with the church (San Miniato al Monte) the venue of their first meeting. Following the loss of his wife and daughter, Michael builds a reproduction of the church front as their tomb. The ‘San Miniato’ we now see is a replica located in Louisiana, forcibly enshrining the past in the present, no matter how out of place. Tellingly, as the finished memorial is revealed to us, a further onscreen title abruptly moves the date forward from 1959 to 1975, blurring period and location yet again: like the eternally grieving Michael, we are becoming unmoored, struggling to stay afloat in a stream of visual repetitions and sudden shifts in time. The false landmark also illuminates the story’s core themes of deceptive appearance and flawed resurrection. While undoubtedly a sincere tribute, the façade is not the original (perhaps also suggesting a self-referential wink towards inevitable criticisms of the film itself). The morbidly grandiose monument symbolises Michael’s almost religious faith in his romantic memories while hinting that such fervent belief may be fallible and unhealthy, blinding him to reality and the passing of time.

Inevitably, Michael’s 1975 trip to Florence leads him back to the real San Miniato for his first encounter with his wife’s doppelganger, Sandra. She is helping to restore a 14th century painting of the Madonna – an idealised supernatural vision of femininity that mirrors the sanctified role his own late wife has assumed in Michael’s mind. When Sandra explains the dilemma faced by the preservation authorities, her words also serve to neatly summarise the emotional conundrum posed by the film. Damaged by moisture, the paint has begun to peel, revealing an older, cruder image underneath; should they investigate this new finding, or “should they restore the original, but never know for sure what lies beneath it?” Michael favours the latter option, once again declaring the preference for romanticised perfection that is the cause of his torments, choosing to overlook uglier truths until it is too late.

The recurring spiral motif central to Vertigo is recreated in Obsession by the revolving paddle of the riverboat in the ransom scenes. Its bright red wheel relentlessly churns the murky water as the tension ratchets up, a visual warning of the dangerous depths to come. As in Hitchcock’s film, the camera encircles the characters in several key scenes, creating a dizzying sense that events are spinning out of control. The roving camerawork also creates a powerful sense of symmetry between the opening and closing sequences, as if the end were also the beginning. During the first scene, we waltz around Michael and Elizabeth as they dance at their anniversary party. For the finale, we loop round and round a final embrace, with the use of slow motion giving every movement a choreographed grace as though, once again, we were dancing.

Vilmos Zsigmond’s diffused cinematography lends the film a slippery, soft-focus edge, perhaps best utilised in two quietly stunning 360⁰ panning shots marking apparent shifts in time. The first is a literal move forward in chronology, drifting around the construction site of Elizabeth and Amy’s tomb in 1959 to return to the finished article in 1975, with a barely noticeable cut covering the transition in scenes. The second, which occurs when Sandra unlocks the sealed bedroom and discovers Elizabeth’s diaries, suggests a psychological step back through the years, prowling round the room as she begins her apparent regression in time to ‘become’ Michael’s late wife. Meanwhile, Sandra’s eventual breakdown recalls the opening slideshow to ingenious effect. She moves along a corridor of bright windows broken by intervals of thick darkness, with each alteration in lighting mimicking a changing slide and marking a further descent into her past thanks to Zsigmond’s photography and Paul Hirsch’s brilliant editing.

This summer marks the 22nd season that Cinespia has brought outdoor cinema to Los Angeles. At both L.A. Historic Park and—famously—The Hollywood Forever Cemetery, Angelenos have been able to catch their favorite films.

What began as a one-time screening of Strangers on a Train for a crowd of a few hundred eventually morphed into a cinephile haven. Now, Cinespia welcomes over 4,000 moviegoers per night and brings various iconic titles back to the silver screen.

Guests are always encouraged to dress up, with photo booths often popping up at the venues. After this, Cinespia always lines its events with plenty of food and drink vendors to visit before popping down for a movie.

This classic ‘70s thriller stars Cliff Robertson and John Lithgow, both of whom are involved the aftermath of a kidnapping. Though none of the film actually takes place on the Main Line, it’s notable for its mention of Bryn Mawr.

While reminiscing about his late wife, Michael Courtland, played by Robertson, talks about his wife’s “Bryn Mawr walk. A Bryn Mawr walk is a kind of a glide, you know? Those girls used to wear long polo coats in those old days, long raincoats. They kind of glide, like they’re late for class. They move fast and just kinda glide.”

Director Brian De Palma was raised on the Main Line and graduated from Friends Central in 1958.

Brian De Palma came of age working in the New Hollywood of the 1970s, alongside peers (and friends) like Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg, and Francis Ford Coppola. Yet his films, though often admired, weren’t treated as great feats of artistry, as theirs were. History, shifted by the enthusiasm of younger movie lovers, has changed that in the past few years—but no matter when or how you’ve found your way to it, Blow Out has always been great. John Travolta’s Jack is a sound guy, unambitious and stuck working on B movies, who’s collecting wind noises out in the field one night when he sees a car swerve off a bridge and into a creek. He dives in after it and rescues the woman trapped inside, Nancy Allen’s Sally, a makeup artist and sometime call girl who, it turns out, was consorting with the governor—he was at the wheel when the crash occurred. The governor’s associates rush to cover up Sally’s involvement; meanwhile, Jack begins to suspect that the crash wasn’t accidental. He listens carefully to the recording he collected that evening and clearly hears a gunshot—but the closer he gets to the truth, the more Sally is endangered, and his efforts to protect her backfire. Blow Out is a film filled with mistrust, one where the ghosts of Chappaquiddick and the Zapruder film lurk in the corners. No one, least of all those in positions of power, can be trusted. (The picture is set against a fictional, and garish, celebration of the Liberty Bell, as if to underscore how far the country has strayed from its original, not-yet-cracked ideals.) Allen and Travolta are wonderful here: Allen’s Nancy, naïve but not dumb, fills the movie with light—her description of “the no makeup look” is a marvel of airhead timing. But it’s Travolta, an actor capable of great vulnerability, who breaks you. The movie’s final scene sends you off feeling that nothing is right with the world. It’s the opposite of numbness; rather, a sense of being much too alive.

There are a million stories about criminals sprung from jail who vow to go straight. And then there’s Brian De Palma’s Carlito’s Way. Al Pacino—swaggering, streetwise, lovesick—gives one of his strongest, most fine-grained performances as convicted drug felon Carlito Brigante, whose crooked lawyer (played, fabulously, by Sean Penn in a perfect approximation of a ’70s man perm) somehow gets him freed after just five years of a 30-year sentence. Carlito’s post-prison dream is to buy into a car-rental joint in the Bahamas—all the better if he can persuade the love of his life, Gail (Penelope Ann Miller), to join him, though he broke her heart before going up the river. Few movies give you pretty much everything—exhilarating action and diamond-hard violence, doomed romance, bitterly funny dialogue—in such a compact package. But there’s something else: movie craftsmanship can be deeply pleasurable, but not by itself. In adapting a duo of novels by Edwin Torres (the script is by master screenwriter David Koepp), de Palma works in a style both economical and luxurious. There’s not a single superfluous shot; you’re entreated not just to look, but to see. The visual logic of a sequence involving a poolroom shootout is so gorgeously precise, it’s like a calculus equation written as a sonnet. Carlito’s Way is De Palma’s warmest film, so meticulous, so lyrical, so operatic in scope and pitch that it leaves you feeling both wrecked and deeply satisfied. It’s perfection that breathes.

"An Experience With Al Pacino (Scarface 40th Anniversary) (MIAMI)" is scheduled for Saturday, December 9, 2023, at Fontainebleau Miami Beach. Here are the event details:

'An Experience With' are delighted to announce in association with BleauLive and Capture Studios a true unique once in a lifetime event with the one and only Al Pacino at the stunning FontaineBleau on Miami Beach, 9th December 2023!

This man needs no introduction! One of the greatest actors of ALL TIME with an Oscar winning career spanning 50 years!

Pacino will discuss his amazing career and extensive movie back catalogue with a special focus on one of the most iconic movies ever produced 'SCARFACE'.

We decided what better place to celebrate the 40th anniversary then Miami itself. Not only this we have chosen the stunning Fontainebleau Hotel which was an actual filming location for the film.

Interesting fact - did you know that the 9th of December 2023 is EXACTLY 40 years since the cinematic release of Scarface!

To make the event even more memorable we will be working hard behind the scenes to get some of the original cast members from the film to the event.

A LIVE EXPERIENCE WITH not to be missed!

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What to expect...

***An exclusive live on-stage interview with the man himself Al Pacino

***High-quality 3-course dinner (selected tickets)

***Live music and band' with Rat Pack singer playing throughout dinner

***Exclusive auction with bespoke signed Pacino memorabilia

***HUGE production with unseen Pacino videos and photos which will be shown throughout the interview on giant screens

+ MUCH MORE

When I was young, my brother and I were introduced to many films by our parents. It was mostly movies from their youth, like The Blues Brothers and the Indiana Jones series. Some of these films you will notice do not exactly feel suitable for child’s viewing. One such film was Brian De Palma’s 1987 crime classic The Untouchables.

Right off the bat (pun intended), the film felt distinct with its title sequence, where the long shadows remind one of bars from a prison cell, supported by Ennio Morricone’s tense and foreboding score. Then came the way the film was shot, the God’s eye view overlooking Al Capone now etched into my memory forever. What I remembered most though, was the violence. It was shocking as a child to see a kid get blown up in such a matter-of-fact way in only the second scene of the film. Another memorable scene came in the form of Al Capone bashing one of his subordinates to death with the aforementioned baseball bat. The image of the aftermath, the pool of blood surrounding the dead man’s head stayed with me for a long time, even as my parents covered my eyes during it. As you can understand, the film made quite an impression on me, but even greater in retrospect as it was most likely the work that introduced me to Brian De Palma’s filmography.

The story of The Untouchables is a fairly simple one. There is a basis in fact, though one needs not concern themselves with the history behind the real-life characters since the screenplay, written by famed Chicago playwright David Mamet, is mostly a work of fiction. The Untouchables takes place in Chicago during the year 1930, when Prohibition was in practice and usurped by ruthless gangsters who ruled the city. The person truly in charge was Alphonse “Al” Capone, portrayed by Robert De Niro. Touting himself as an innocent businessman, Capone reigned with terror and violence, a point the film makes very early in on. Assigned to stop him is Treasury Agent Elliot Ness, played by Kevin Costner in a star-making performance. Unlike his bought-out contemporaries, Ness believes in justice and aims to bring Capone down, no matter the costs. However, there is little he can do as a majority of his partners in the police department are in the pocket of Capone himself. That’s when he hatches the plan to form a small unit of handpicked cops, cops who cannot be bought by a cheap bribe, cops who are “untouchable.”

The first to be recruited is veteran Irish cop Jim Malone (Sean Connery in his Oscar-winning performance). Through Malone, Ness learns the “Chicago way,” using the same tactics as the crooks to put them behind bars. The other two recruits are both new to the field in their own way: marksman George Stone (Andy Garcia) proves his worth to the other members, both as an Italian-American and as a dedicated officer of the law. Fellow Treasury agent Oscar Wallace (Charles Martin Smith) is formally an accountant, but inexperienced when it comes to field action. However, it’s his knowledge of accounts and bookkeeping that helps bring the most crucial piece of evidence against Capone: income tax evasion.

To me, The Untouchables feels like a perfect storm, a film made by the right people at the right time. By the time he agreed to direct the film, De Palma had almost thirty years of filmmaking experience to guide him, and had mastered the art of visual storytelling, as seen in such brilliant films as Sisters, Carrie, and Blow Out. I think his style brings a freshness to the period gangster film that would otherwise feel rather quaint at this point. For his stab at the genre, De Palma pulls no punches and brings all his cinematic tricks: long takes, unusual camera angles, split diopters, steadicam, POV-shots; all in the name of Hitchcockian levels of suspense.

He also brings a grand, operatic sense of scope to the film that feels at times like a perfect blend between the majesty of David Lean with the American mythology of John Ford. And of course, we cannot discuss The Untouchables and its relationship to classic and foundational cinema without mentioning the train station shootout, an outright salute to the Odessa Step sequence from Sergei Eisenstein’s Battleship Potemkin. A superb sequence and a perfect filmmaking lesson in building tension, establishing geography and dramatic payoff, made even more impressive when one realizes it was added fairly late in the production process as a replacement to a more logistically elaborate train chase.

Question: HOW DID YOU GET INTO THIS CHARACTER?

Johansson: Luckily I had what a lot of actors don’t have which is the source the book. I mean, you read a script and you interpret the character’s emotions through their actions and their words, but I had the perspective of Bucky’s character looking in on Kay. So I really used that as the beginning source the character.

Question: WHERE DID YOU SHOOT THIS FILM?

Johansson: We filmed it in L.A. and we filmed it in Bulgaria as well.

Question: WHAT DID YOU SHOOT IN BULGARIA?

Johansson: We shot most all of the interiors there. Dante Ferretti had built the sets and he actually built the Chinatown set there. He had built the apartment there that they find. He built the interior of the house there and the boxing ring and the police station. A lot of it was just there.

Question: DID YOU HAVE ANY PRECONCEIVED NOTIONS ABOUT BRIAN DE PALMA BEFORE GOING INTO THIS PROJECT AND HOW DID YOU GET INVOLVED WITH IT? ALSO, DID YOU HAVE A THEORY AS TO WHAT REALLY HAPPENED TO ELIZABETH SHORT?

Johansson: Well, when I had become involved with the project, and I was originally excited just hearing that Brian had a film that he was directing with two female roles. I’ve always wanted to work with him and have been a huge fan of his. I met with Brian. I had read the script and was very attracted to the character of Kay. So, I met with him and I tried to convince him that I could play this character that I’m completely physically wrong for and he bought it. So that was good. I never have any preconceived notion of people because I find that they always prove you wrong or are surprising. I expected a certain kind of darkness about him, a certain kind of roughness about him I guess, and I was surprised to find out that he’s a very funny guy. He’s very funny. One thing that didn’t surprise me about Brian is that he’s really cut and dry. He’s never going to beat you around the block regarding anything and he’s never wishy-washy about anything, which is such a relief. As far as my own theory, I had read ‘The Black Dahlia’ and that seemed like a palpable (note: maybe she means plausible?) story. I don’t know though. I mean, that seemed to be – I felt that was interesting and was definitely a candidate for the truth, but who really knows.

Question: YOU SEEMED SO COMFORTABLE IN THIS PERIOD. DID YOU DO A LOT OF RESEARCH ON THE TIME PERIOD OR WATCH A LOT OF FILM NOIR FILMS?

Johansson: I never thought that actually the character was a femme fatale and she didn’t go out there to ruin someone’s relationship or steal the man or anything like that. She’s not trying to seduce him into this dark kind of relationship or torrid affair or anything. She likes him and she falls for him, but of course I have a pretty good film history for someone my age too. I’ve seen a lot of those noir films. It’s fun to watch them too. Films like ‘The Maltese Falcon’ or ‘Third Man.’ But I always liked film noir, but some of those films are too kind of cops and robbers for me. I like the more melodramatic Bette Davis films of that period, and stuff like that. But there wasn’t anyone that I really based the character off of. I wasn’t trying to copy someone’s performance or something like that, but it was interesting to see that. And well, of course as a modern actor we have this movement that sort of started in the ’70’s of realism and the gritty kind of natural – whatever you can bring to the table, that kind of technique. So it was interesting to pair that with the dialogue. The dialogue is so stylized and impossible [Laughs] and impossibly unrealistic. It was interesting and it was a challenge to try and keep the integrity of that with ease and the realness of it while also saying things like, ‘How could you, Dwight? How could you?’ I mean, you never say those things. It was so dated, that kind of dialogue. It was a challenge to make that not such a film type dialogue.