Sitting, Waiting, Watching: The 20 Best Brian De Palma Films

Last month was De PalMay. This month, we ranked his greatest movies.

We have all these characters.

Not going to say there’d be no Even Better without Brian De Palma, but he certainly helped get the ball rolling on this thing. Last spring, we embarked on our first joint project — watching as many De Palma pictures as we could in the month of May. And thus De PalMay was born. (Yeah, it doesn’t really rhyme or make any phonetic sense, but you’ll have to roll with it.) We watched a whole bunch of his movies last year, and dedicated the 2024 season of De PalMay to an even more robust slate of big blindspots and classic rewatches, in preparation for a combined ranking of his 20 best films, which you’ll find below.

More than most of his contemporaries, De Palma’s kind of a Rorschach test for moviegoers: to some, he’s the guy who directed Scarface and Mission: Impossible. Others, the voyeuristic pervert who mastered the erotic thriller. Or maybe, the (fossilized) assessment of a schlocky Hitchcock imitator. A deep dive into his work reveals all of these and more — a lot of Hitchcock, a little bit Godard, a bit more Brecht. But all told, he’s far greater than the sum of his influences, bending their approaches to become one of the greatest film stylists of all time and an expert practitioner, refracting the history of cinematic form into a language all his own. Few modern filmmakers have traversed the boundaries of the studio system and bristling outsider irreverence quite like De Palma, emerging with their techniques and identity so fully intact.

For the email readers: this will be a little bit longer than usual, so you’ll have to click “view entire message” to find out which movies top our list.

20. Domino (2019)

De Palma presided over his most troubled, compromised shoot on Domino — so much that he had no interest in promoting the final product. The narrative’s as choppy and ludicrous as they come (CIA informant, ISIS, surprise pregnancy); Nikolaj Coster-Waldau is a chiseled plank of wood. But wait, don’t go — there’s still plenty to like here! (My co-pilot here said it best: “Good. Sometimes bad. But it’s good.”) The inciting set piece here has strong rhythm and structure to it, and, later, there’s one of the most shocking split-screen sequences of De Palma’s career, with the camera mounted on opposing orientations of a gun during a film festival massacre (we’ll see more about those in Femme Fatale). Also returning from Femme Fatale is Eriq Ebouaney, whose character dunked another dude’s head into a pot of boiling water during the worst turbulence I’ve ever experienced while watching this on an airplane. Strong chance this could be Brian’s final film, and legends have gone out on far worse efforts. — Shawn

19. The Untouchables (1987)

My parents’ favorite Brian De Palma movie. Maybe your parents’ favorite Brian De Palma movie. His most crowd-pleasing, classical Hollywood, Saturday-afternoon-on-TNT standard, and I think the residual memories of watching the Odessa steps riff through the Billy Drago plunge a million times on cable kept this one pretty high in my mental rankings. But after throwing it on for the first time in a decade and a half, this felt like a backloaded affair, with that late masterclass in remixing and style papering over an earnest, often hokey screenplay compared to his other big studio efforts. There’s something fascinating in Elliot Ness’s family taking on this idyllic, wispy, loosely developed presence in the film — Patricia Clarkson’s credited as “Ness’ wife” — and his search for gunslingers without wives and families, but you also sense a missed opportunity to deploy another Brian hallmark and really burrow into the guy’s obsession for hunting mobsters and bootleggers. Even so, the destination’s fully worth it, and you can understand why De Palma himself finds gratification in its success, calling it one of his “magical movies.” — Shawn

18. Raising Cain (1992)

What better way to celebrate your new marriage than a movie about infidelity and child abduction? Smack in the middle of their two-year union, superproducer Gale Anne Hurd teamed with her husband for Raising Cain, probably the kookiest thriller under De Palma’s belt. After The Bonfire of the Vanities took a critical and commercial bludgeoning, he returned to a reliable toolkit for this one. Back are some of his favorite Hitchcockian calling cards — split personalities, doubles, and <spoiler alert> dispatching his would-be heroine in the first half. Even in the director’s preferred sequencing, differing from the studio cut’s immediate introduction of Dr. Carter Nix/Cain’s (John Lithgow) criminal misdeeds, this is still pretty silly, Advanced Studies De Palma for one of his thrillers, but weather the tonal whiplash for a woozy, jaw-dropping climax that ranks among his finest sequences. — Shawn

17. Casualties of War (1989)

The 1980s had many major American directors making films about the ill-fated Vietnam war: Altman, Levinson, Kubrick, Coppola (again), Stone (twice). De Palma’s 1989 Vietnam offering may be the bleakest of the bunch, less interested in making grand statements on the conflict or capturing its hellishness, but shining an unwavering light on the repulsive inhumanity that can occur within the often romanticized camaraderie of troop brotherhood. The only time I've seen a band of brothers look uglier onscreen is when De Palma essentially remade this film, but set in Iraq. You'll see that one later in this list.

Bonus story: In my Intro to Film class in college, we were given a list of movies as options to write a massive paper on. At least three viewings of the movie would be required. For some reason, the total feel-bad Casualties of War was on said list (my buddies Tank and Tommy regretfully chose that one). Why my college professor put it on there I'll never know. It’s like an adult version of being traumatized by Old Yeller in 4th grade and then the teacher goes, "alright, let's run it back and read it again!" — Elliott

16. Sisters (1972)

Come for the craft, stay for the...craft.  With De Palma's first foray into a more straightforward, A to B narrative, the Hitchcock influence starts to crystallize: a Rear Window-esque witnessing of an across-the-street murder, the cutting of said murder clearly influenced by Psycho — hell, legendary Hitchcock collaborator Bernard Herrmann scores the dang movie! But Hitchcock never did a split screen sequence, and the one in Sisters announced that a new master of suspense may be on the horizon. Sisters loses significant steam as we dive deeper into conspiracy and psychology (Hitchcock's Psycho has the same issue if I may be so bold). But no part of me would hesitate in recommending this. It's definitely the first one I'd recommend to fans of David Cronenberg. — Elliott

15. Scarface (1983)

I didn't think Scarface was a good movie until I watched it again in my 30s — not the arc you'd expect with this dorm room poster classic. A recent rewatch had me appreciating its total coldness to capitalism, treating Tony's aspirations and adventures as unappealing and ridiculous. Unlike Goodfellas and The Wolf of Wall Street where the rise and fall look like it would at least be fun for a little while, nothing about Tony's arc feels enticing. He's a just buffoon in a broken system and nothing about who he is and what he does is enviable. With a script penned by Oliver Stone, the ideas can be a little ham-fisted, but De Palma helps keep things in check with plenty of long and wide shots, framing the action from a distance to keep us at a remove. He's practically pointing out how silly this all is. Almost every De Palma film is a comedy. I had to get older to understand that.

Also Pacino's cartoonish (compliment) performance reminds me of Liam Gallagher's behaviorisms for the first stretch of the movie, both speech and movements. Fellow Oasis fans let me know if you see it next time you fire up Scarface. — Elliott

14. Mission to Mars (2000)

More than a decade before brazenly sentimental space movies became all the rage, De Palma cranked up the schmaltz dial for a genuinely sweet, hopeful space saga just a little too ahead of its time. Reuniting with Gary Sinise from Snake Eyes, along with a real supporting actor superteam (Tim Robbins, Don Cheadle, Connie Nielsen, Jerry O’Connell), De Palma inherited a pretty boilerplate Martian rescue mission story and still went a tiny bit bozo mode with it. I know he regards this as an underfunded, hired-gun Disney ride movie, but there’s real humanity to his most conventionally pleasing 21st century effort — oh, plus an awesome circular crane tracking shot to “Dance the Night Away” and exploding bodies. — Shawn

13. Passion (2012)

When people ask me, "hey Elliott, what's 'Late Style?'" (daily occurrence), I tell them to fire up Tubi and watch De Palma's Passion. With a plot that doesn't feel too removed from a Tubi original movie of the week, De Palma concocts something very special here. Passion reminds me of what Lynch did with the original Twin Peaks, borrowing TV soap opera conventions and marrying them with his own dark and surreal sensibilities. In Passion, De Palma's takes a campy premise, even capturing it in a soapy 35mm sheen, and makes it into a stylish, catty, and beguiling tale. The film climaxes with what may be his (hot take) most breathtaking split screen sequence, 40 years after his breakthrough Sisters. On one hand, it's the kind of film I'd love to write a couple thousand words about. On the other, it's a total hoot that I love to turn my brain off and giggle. I need to watch this with my sister sometime soon. — Elliott

12. Phantom of the Paradise (1974)

Predating The Rocky Horror Picture Show by 10 months, De Palma's own rock-musical-comedy-horror-cult-film is much more our speed. A loose adaptation of classics like Faust and The Phantom of the Opera, he centers this sprightly tale on every artist's worst nightmare — having your art stolen and compromised by "The Man" ("The Man"/villain portrayed by legendary songwriter Paul Williams, joining icons/De Palma collaborators John Lithgow (Lord Farquaad) and Danny De Vito (The Penguin) in the evil small men canon). The songs, costumes, set design, and trio of performances by Williams, William Finley and Jessica Harper are all aces. Then there's the man’s vital direction. Original De Palma champion Pauline Kael wrote, "You practically get a kinetic charge from the breakneck wit he put into 'Phantom;' it isn't just that the picture has vitality but that one can feel the tremendous kick the director got out of making it." Nail on the head Ms. Kael.

A fun exercise is to watch a De Palma movie and imagine what it would be like if somebody else directed it. It is invariably a lesser film every time. — Elliott

11. Obsession (1976)

On the surface, it's basically Vertigo. But Brian is far from the Hitchcock tribute band that so many bozos claimed he is. He's not remaking films, he's having a conversation with them, repurposing Vertigo's eternal themes to work through his own takes on tragedy and...obsession. Employing grainy soft focus cinematography, it's the most deliberately classical of De Palma's '70s films, by far his least flashy title up to that point. Assisted by legends Paul Schrader with the script and Vilmos Zsigmond with the images, Obsession has an ashen sadness baked in every frame. It's anchored by Cliff Robertson's divisive performance, many felt the stoic actor was miscast, but he brings a weighty melancholy to a man who never dreamed life would turn out this way, and refuses to accept that it has. No De Palma film is complete without a show stopping set piece or two and there's a real emotional gravity and stakes to the ones in Obsession. It concludes with one of his most moving endings, a bit of a counter to Vertigo's harrowing finale — one you can offer a generous reading if you choose: maybe obsession is okay. Hell, sometimes it's necessary.  — Elliott

10. Mission: Impossible (1996)

It’s Mission: Impossible! Before the series became a Tom Cruise auteurist project, it was briefly a Brian De Palma auteurist project (and then a John Woo auteurist project). Moderate shade to last year’s Dead Reckoning, but seeing the series dip back into the well for unsightly, tightly staged close-ups and canted angles just proved there’s no touching the king’s work here. His filmmaking language oozes during the early restaurant sequence — wringing suspense from just two guys talking through camerawork — the opening kill-off of Ethan’s team, and the classic Langley breach. While the franchise continually upped the stakes through escalating stunt work and Keaton-esque physical gags rather than operatic slow-mo, De Palma’s mark on the franchise was pronounced, as it still prides itself on set pieces and visual construction above all else. While it might be modern action’s sturdiest institution, with at least three other great films under its belt, no movie in the series produced tension or images so enduring. — Shawn

9. Dressed to Kill (1980)

Not my first De Palma, but absolutely my gateway to the broader Brian De Palma experience. On a purely aesthetic filmmaking level, Dressed to Kill ranks among his most accomplished work ever. It’s hard to understate what the museum sequence can do to a 21-year-old mind that’s been desperate for something…anything to scratch the Vertigo itch. But this, of course, was instead Psycho’s more perverted, outrageous cousin, and it piles on the elegantly staged suspense pieces to live up to its ancestor — before the eleventh hour exposition dump briefly halts the train. Dressed to Kill is inextricable from its twisty trans plotline, which you could charitably read as curiously gawking — or a bit more uncharitably read as really transphobic. (Trans critics are, obviously, more worthy of your time on this topic. Here’s one from Willow Maclay and Caden Mark Gardner, featuring an admittedly good burn from Maclay for the skeptics checking in: “Isn’t it frustrating that Brian De Palma may have more natural talent as a director than maybe anyone who has ever stepped behind the camera and he mostly uses it to worry about his dick?”)

And yet, it isn’t all so regressive. The Angie Dickinson plotline — seeking affection beyond her limp, unfulfilling marriage prior to her gruesome, first-act murder — is treated with far more compassion and interest in her interiority as a middle-aged housewife than controversy at the time would suggest. Brian also got a little Fabelmans mode with it, 40 years before Spielberg, casting Keith Gordon as the nerdy whiz kid, using his technical know-how to track down his mother’s killer (recalling De Palma following his own father around during his extramarital affairs). Even amid the vulgarity, he’s a distinct, personal filmmaker. — Shawn

8. Hi, Mom! (1970)

Of the friend group that was the Movie Brats (De Palma, Spielberg, Scorsese, Coppola, Lucas), De Palma is the only one I'd describe as punk. Hi, Mom! is his most punk. An abrasive, hysterical (depending on how sicko a viewer's sense of humor is) pitch black comedy; you're likely to fall in either the love it or loathe it camp. Before Robert De Niro was Scorsese's muse, he was De Palma's guy, turning in a performance here that's equally unsettling/impressive as The King of Comedy's Rupert Pupkin. The most infamous scene of Hi, Mom!, involves an experimental theater troupe putting on a show called Be Black Baby!, asking white attendees to live out black lives. It needs to be seen and experienced to be believed.

How he made a film with Jerry Lewis-esque hijinks that also features an assaulting castigation of performative, all talk and no action liberals is insane. There's also the biting commentary on pornography, voyeurism, television, Vietnam disaffection: it's a full meal in 85 minutes. I've seen Hi, Mom! twice and it feels like I'm only scratching the surface. — Elliott

7. Snake Eyes (1998)

Thinking about the inspired leading man performances De Palma has squeezed from so many era-defining actors — Pacino, De Niro, Cruise, Travolta — and you can put Nicolas Cage’s frantic effort in Snake Eyes right up there with them, comfortably among his finest work. His gonzo corrupt detective bears witness to a ringside murder, with apparent political motivations, that’s really a pure vessel for one of De Palma’s most luxurious efforts in style. The masterful oner establishing the boxing arena’s full terrain is just the beginning; tri-paneled split screens, split diopters, and a prolonged overhead shot spanning numerous hotel rooms keep the pace zipping. It’s one of the finest marriages of De Palma’s fascinations (conspiracy, voyeurism, distrust of American empire) with a real-deal pressure cooker of a studio thriller. Also have to give it up for David Koepp’s killer run with De Palma in the ‘90s (Carlito’s Way, Mission: Impossible, Snake Eyes) — and keep your ears peeled for a line in this that’s nearly identical to one he’d recycle in Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man (“I missed the part where that’s my problem”). — Shawn

6. Redacted (2007)

CW: mention of sexual violence

On the short list of the most revolutionary, courageous films of the 21st century so far. The same Hollywood system that booed Michael Moore at the 2003 Oscars for condemning the Iraq War was of course uniquely unsuited to meet the moment on the big screen, as several of De Palma’s peers (and De Palma himself) did in the wake of Vietnam. Enraged by the news in Mahmudiyah of five U.S. soldiers who raped a 14-year-old girl, before murdering her and her family, De Palma loosely based Redacted on these events. The result is nasty, repulsive, viscerally unpleasant cinema that’s completely righteous in its aims. He’s back to his outsider, Godardian techniques, abruptly toggling form (handheld DV found-footage from the offending soldiers one minute, a handsomely made French documentary focusing on the same soldiers, surveillance cameras, army wife vlogs) around the central narrative. The techniques and performances are often amateurish, greatly to their benefit, grounding these atrocities beyond Hollywood sheen; although fictionalized, the crimes and people enacting them are quite real. Its release was suppressed like few others in De Palma’s career, on the back of right-wing boycotts, and his standing with the studios never recovered. As much as the handsomely filmed voyeurism, this renegade spirit should be his legacy. — Shawn

5. Blow Out (1981)

Setting Hitchcock on the shelf and instead borrowing from another master, Blow Out takes its premise from Italian maestro Michelangelo Antonioni's Blow-Up. It's an amalgamation of many De Palma staples, primarily surveillance and conspiracy. John Travolta was only 27 when Blow Out filmed, but he plays movie sound recordist Jack Terry like a man that's been torn down by political corruption for decades. He's probably standing in for De Palma himself, the man who made the critical Hi, Mom!, is now older and wiser and more cynical. When Jack witnesses a car crash/death and rescues Sally (Nancy Allen, always phenomenal in De Palma projects) from the drowning car, he suspects foul play, and his one tool of evidence is his sound equipment as he got the whole thing on tape. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time there will be some justice.

As Blow Out meets its gutting end, it becomes maybe his most horrifying picture. I had falsely remembered the final shot being the iconic fireworks body blow. Far from it; there's an even more haunting denouement — "It's a good scream. It's a good scream." Jack Terry takes the devastation he experiences and uses it to make his movie better. Brian probably does the same thing in his life. Given Terry's despondence, it doesn't seem to give De Palma much solace. — Elliott

4. Carrie (1976)

Roger Ebert used to do a thing called "Cinema Interruptus" where he'd show a film and lead a discussion on it live, constantly pausing the film and breaking down what the film was doing formally. If I were to ever lead one of those, give me Carrie, one of the most astoundingly directed films I've ever seen. Everything the camera does, when it does it, how it does it, creates so much feeling at once. Terror and beauty often coexist, twirling around together like Carrie and Tommy dancing at the prom.

Perfection is the word I associate with Carrie. Each moment is sublime and/or horrifying, and if you love horror films and high school stories, it's sublimely horrifying. The casting is dynamite — Sissy Spacek giving one of the genre's great performances, the young Blow Out couple John Travolta and Nancy Allen as asshole bullies, Amy Irving as the sympathetic "friend," Piper Laurie as the mother from hell who thinks she's from heaven. It's all held together by De Palma's hand, both steady and flashy, showcasing just how terrifying it is to be teenager. And who could forget that split screen climax with the pig's blood?? The best. It's a religious experience watching the man cook. — Elliott

3. Femme Fatale (2002)

Before diving into my personal favorite De Palma joint, I want to bring in something he said in the self-titled documentary from 2015: 

“The way you people (editor’s note: in this case, Noah Baumbach and Jake Paltrow, who directed De Palma) make movies is you start with character and build out. I start with [visual] construction and then fill it in…I’m driven by unrealistic ideas.”

That’s the skeleton key right there, not only to understanding what drives Femme Fatale, but effectively his entire career. The man simply sees and feels cinematic moments before getting bogged down in the particulars of practical matters. I don’t want to put words in his mouth, but something like “wouldn’t it be cool to stage a diamond heist at Cannes…oh and the diamonds are on a gold snake piece wrapped around a supermodel?” might come before anything like character motivations, and that’s a beautiful thing. 

In addition to that remarkable, remarkable opening set piece that rides with the best ever, Femme Fatale is an apotheosis of style, dreamy misdirection, and visual construction above all else. It’s every Brian De Palma thriller rolled into one. After Rebecca Romijn’s duplicitous diamond thief makes away with the $10 million haul, she lucks into the chance to start over as her French doppelganger who’s conveniently gone missing. Seven years later, she returns to Paris as the wife of an American diplomat cloaked in anonymity — until a crass, leering paparazzo (Antonio Banderas) snaps her photo, revealing her likeness to her ex-conspirators seeking vengeance. What follows is only his sleaziest, most tightly wound Eurotrash odyssey, as always working in conversation with his forebears and the process of filmmaking itself. Femme Fatale is not only De Palma’s finest 21st century effort; it’s one of the best films of the century full stop. — Shawn

2. Carlito’s Way (1993)

Much like how Brian De Palma can feel like the overlooked middle child of the Movie Brats — or maybe the least likely to be regarded as a capital-A artist among casual moviegoers — Carlito’s Way also feels like the neglected brother to Scorsese’s more lauded ‘90s crime epics in Goodfellas and Casino. It was the Walmart DVD bargain bin fixture to their only-on-sale-for-Black Friday status, but it’s every bit their peer and stands as one of the greatest films of its decade. Few movies reach the tragic, melodramatic heights forecasted in its noirish opening sequence alone, establishing from the jump that Carlito lands on death’s doorstep in the coming hours. The journey to that final bookend is only the most swooning, romantic effort of De Palma’s career, the camera gliding and luxuriating through the club(s) in deep pinks and reds. Soulful like few other crime sagas in spite of (or dare I say…because of) Pacino-goes-Puerto Rican at its core, and on a moment-to-moment level, Carlito moves like the most confidently directed film of his career, peaking with the jaw-dropping Steadicam work through the Grand Central Station set piece (that was originally conceived for the World Trade Center pre-1993 bombing). In the De Palma doc, he recalls seeing it in Berlin and thinking he can’t make a better picture than this. When I’m watching it, I doubt that anyone can. — Shawn

1. Body Double (1984)

What's more exciting to watch — a striptease, or a murder? How about a striptease and a murder. The only thing for Brian De Palma that's more exhilarating than watching those is watching when you're not supposed to. But as the narrative of Body Double unfolds, maybe we were supposed to? Maybe we want to? Listen to the iconic score that plays when Craig Wasson is peeping on Melanie Griffith. It's lovely. This is a spiritual experience.

Before you go calling me a sicko, I'm merely speaking for the questions posed by De Palma in his opus of opuses. It usually doesn’t end well for the sickos. There's a few contenders for which film could be considered The De Palma film, or the most De Palma film. I count three: Blow Out, Femme Fatale, and Body Double — all centered around an event where the protagonist witnesses something they aren't supposed to see (literally his MO), and all films that are in deep conversation with movies themselves (his greatest obsession). In Body Double, the line between reality and fantasy, between film and real life, becomes entirely blurred. Life is films and films are life baby.

There's Rear Window, there's Vertigo, there's even North by Northwest (an unsuspecting, regular guy protagonist being dropped in the middle of a murder plot), but it's all top-shelf, peak of his prime Brian De Palma. The mostly wordless sequence of Craig Wasson following Deborah Shelton around the mall, then the motel, then into the tunnel, and then the circling makeout is one of the great stretches in cinema history. It's what cinema is all about. — Elliott

We love you Brian. Here's to dozens of more De PalMays.