Another track that will endure due to its violent honesty follows in “Anti-Hero”, where Swift faces self-hatred and depression head on, imagining herself surrounded by the people she’s ghosted and a scheming family that is only after her inheritance. The scar on her collarbone returns here as she imagines herself a giant monster with a pierced heart, unable to die. There’s faint irony here, but also fatigue as she repeats the signature chorus: “It’s me / Hi / I’m the problem, it’s me”. This connects with much of Swift’s self-reflection chronicled in the documentary Miss Americana, where she discusses her vast insecurities, but it also points out her standing in the music business, where the ‘family’ of surrounding industry players see her merely as a money-making annoyance. The midnight here stretches into the afternoon, further characterizing the moment as a feeling, as Swift goes to war and shock imagery abounds: “Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism like some kind of congressman? / A tale as old as time / I wake up screaming from dreaming, one day I’ll watch as you’re leaving and life will lose all its meaning / For the last time”.

Thankfully, the darkness lifts a little with “Snow On The Beach”, which introduces a very interesting sonic inspiration. The minimalist classical background has hints of modern composers like Philip Glass and Steve Reich, with the short up-and-down of pulled strings looping as the vocal line extends over it. It’s incredibly cinematic, with the use of bells also introduces a somewhat wintery nuance, but the orchestral bed drives the song and makes it softly avant-garde in a manner similar to Bowie’s equally Reich-inspired “Weeping Wall”. Much has been made of the Lana Del Rey feature here, which is already being memed as inaudible – if anything, Del Rey’s voice adds a subtle shade of melancholia, contrasting the pure happiness of the miniature love story the lyrics chronicle. It indeed does feel like, as Swift points out, a moment from a movie.

This theme that into “You’re On Your Own, Kid”, where Swift returns to her hometown, attending what could be read as a homecoming dance only to find her friends ignore her and have moved on. After referencing the ‘Daisy’ persona from Reputation‘s “Don’t Blame Me”, Swift imagines herself as Carrie in the climactic moments of Brian De Palma’s interpretation as the scene turns apocalyptic: “From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes / I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this / I hosted parties and starved my body / Like I’d be saved by a perfect kiss / The jokes weren’t funny, I took the money / My friends from home don’t know what to say / I looked around in a blood-soaked gown / And I saw something they can’t take away”.

As on the first two tracks of the album, the musical composition on “You’re On Your Own, Kid”, with its plucked guitars and subtle synths reminiscent of The xx, hides the emotional darkness quite well, and opens many questions. In a way, it feels like Swift is using pop music to cast a shadow over the brightly illuminated truths within her lyrics on Midnights. Maybe this polarity is not so much a contrast but – similar to the industrial and noise elements on Reputation – an open admission, like a wizard who will introduce his show by exclaiming his work is illusory, but still distracting the audience during the process to alleviate the performance.

Swift portraying herself as Carrie puts into sharp focus who the “monster” in “Anti-Hero” is, illuminating a worldview where women are driven to violence and madness by a world that confronts them with brutality until they break under the punches. That’s where the earlier mention of Courtney Love and Laura Palmer makes a lot of sense – the dark side of the homecoming queen has been a classic staple of modern American pop culture. But in Swift’s equation there is no Bob and no Kurt Cobain; there’s just the very real loneliness of a person constantly bombarded with her own reflection, and her attempts at finding new personas to confront this isolation, which shift and mutate.

As an example, the image of cold blooded vengeance extends to “Vigilante Shit”, where Swift takes the role of Catwoman, all lascivious eyeliner and dressed for revenge. It’s the album’s most minimal track, all quiet anger with its hushed beats and subdued synth lines. Funny enough, the closest sonic reference here is Talking Heads’ “Listening Wind”, which imagines a very different type of revenge and a different kind of vigilantism. This familiarity shouldn’t be read as direct reference, but the similarly eerie-yet-beckoning atmosphere showcases how there is a thematic basis within the emotional core message.

There’s another link here: “Vigilante Shit” is one of multiple appearances of Zoe Kravitz’s presence (the others being her co-credit as writer of “Lavender Haze” and bonus-track-title “High Infidelity” riffing on her show High Fidelity). The actor and the songwriter reportedly quarantined together during the lockdown and Swift later praised her friend’s interpretation of Selina Kyle in The Batman – and the subtle but clever parallels (the cat’s eye, the need for revenge, the double identity, the vigilante character) are too numerous to not work. Kyle can be lined up with Palmer; Carrie and Love as mythical American women who are being demonized for being maladjusted and fighting back against a system that is all too ready to bend them until they break. Their demons are, in a way, manifestations of the structure they reside in – and while Palmer, Carrie and Kyle have Twin Peaks, Santa Paula and Gotham respectively, Love and Swift have LA and New York. This is where the cover art of Swift staring in the flame becomes much more than just an image – to banish the demon or to burn it all down?

We're celebrating Halloween season with a commentary track for one of Agatha's favorite movies, Brian De Palma's 1974 cult horror musical Phantom of the Paradise! Listen as we praise the amazing songwriting of Paul Williams, identify De Palma's various references to classic films, and marvel at Jessica Harper's dancing. Listen for our countdown to start your copy of the movie. Warning: Contains explicit language, spoilers, and awkward traveling mattes.

Jonathan Anderson‘s eponymous British brand, JW Anderson, doesn’t shy away from a bold print or a heavy reference. In recent times, the designer has drawn influence from the South Korean cartoon Run Hany, delivered a Spring/Summer 2023 runway show dispersed with kitsch nods like goldfish swimming in a bag, and has also released his infamous FW22 pigeon clutch. Now, the designer gears up for spooky season as JW Anderson has collaborated with MGM on one of its most notorious horror films, Carrie.

Released in 1976, the Stephen King-adapted film directed by Brian De Palma went on to become a cult classic. With Carrie White — played by Sissy Spacek — as the film’s protagonist, it was a film unlike many others of its time as the bullied Miss. White became the unlikely star of the film, using psychic powers at her school prom to release her telekinetic terror.

As for the capsule collection, Anderson spotlights Carrie herself across a number of key womenswear-centric items (although, much of JW Anderson’s clothes lean into the genderless realms of fashion). Here, a black shirt sports classic Carrie masthead branding alongside a depiction of a prom tiara, while another graphic shirt shows the moment Carrie is crowned prom queen — moments before she massacres students en masse.

Printed co-ords expand this theme with the help of formal pants, while T-shirts, hoodies and a puffer jacket round off the capsule’s RTW, with accessories including the Bumper Moon bag, a baseball cap, and tote bags also making an appearance. Take a look at the Jurgen Teller-shot campaign (staring the model Lily McMenamy) above, and shop the collection online or in JW Anderson’s flagship Soho, London store, now.

Also yesterday, IndieWire posted an article with the headline, "Spooky Strings and Scary Synths: IndieWire’s Favorite Horror Scores." It features a nicely-stated appreciation of Pino Donaggio's score for Carrie by Jim Hemphill:

Brian De Palma worked with one of his heroes, Bernard Herrmann, on “Sisters” and “Obsession,” and he planned to have Herrmann score “Carrie” as well. When Herrmann passed away, De Palma was faced with an unusual challenge: How do you find a composer worthy of following in the footsteps of arguably the greatest that ever lived? The director must have been happy with what he found in Italian composer Pino Donaggio, because they would go on to collaborate on many future films, including “Dressed to Kill,” “Blow Out,” “Body Double,” and “Raising Cain.” “Carrie” remains one of their greatest triumphs, a film in which Donaggio’s lyrical strings and woodwinds seem to be speaking for telekinetic high school outcast Carrie White herself — and in which the stabbing, shrieking strings interrupt her reveries to pave the way for her assaults on her enemies. Donaggio viewed “Carrie” as less of a horror film than a tragedy, and his music evokes almost physically painful feelings in the viewer toward the doomed title character. It also makes the film all the scarier when the horror does kick in, because we’ve grown to care about Carrie to a degree uncommon for a film of any genre. —JH

And on a final note, last week, New City Film posted an article by director Jennifer Reeder, with the headline, "Made for Horror: Favorite Genre Films, Led By Women." The article focuses on films directed by women, but at the end, Reeder adds on "Special-mention genre films I love about women but directed by men." --

Carrie (1976), Brian de Palma
This film features the most perfect ending to all films ever made. It’s a great example of why the “teen film” is a perfect nest for horror. Sissy Spacek is brilliant as both hero and villain.

Rebecca (1940), Alfred Hitchcock (based on a book by Daphne de Maurier)
A wickedly morose telling of a lady love triangle between a newlywed, her maid and a ghost. I saw this film for the first time when I was very young, and it’s been under my skin ever since. It’s possibly one of the reasons I am a filmmaker who works in genre.

Made with the reflexive panache that would make most modern directors weep, De Palma’s second collaboration with Pacino proved to be a much more muted affair than their first. Carlito’s Way sees a reformed Puerto Rican gangster trying to keep things clean upon his release from prison, but his attempts to own a garish nightclub that’s an assault on the senses of sight and sound inevitably gets tied up with the nefarious deeds he wanted to avoid. Poor guy! There’s not much hope for him throughout the two-and-a-half-hour runtime, seeing as the opening shots show his dead body being carried away. It’s great seeing Pacino, the same year he won his Oscar, slum around as a noble ex-con building his life up from nothing.

In terms of delirious performances, Pacino actually struggles to let his Hooah-ness shine, thanks to the dominating lifeforce that is Sean Penn as Carlito’s insecure, belligerent, coke-fiend best friend. When Pacino isn’t trying to calm down Penn’s sweaty turn, he has to fend off a scenery-chewing Viggo Mortensen (wired and wheelchair-riding in his one scene) and a luminescent John Leguizamo as the flashy wannabe bigtimer Benny Blanco (from the Bronx). And, like all good movies, Luis Guzmán is in the background somewhere. It’s understandable how straight Pacino plays it; even in a De Palma movie, there’s a limit on how many insane performances you can have before a movie bursts at the seams. And while Pacino hadn’t yet leaned fully into the shouty, eye-bulging indulgences that the ‘90s would represent for him, he did get to lead a classic dialogue-free De Palma suspense sequence, evading sinister characters across a big railway station. Little victories.

THE FILM VAULT is launched this December, a brand new collector’s range featuring titles across the Warner Bros. Discovery and Universal Pictures catalogues, with four highly-collectable and beautifully packaged titles on 4K Ultra HD and Blu-rayTM: BLADE RUNNER, GOODFELLAS, SCARFACE and 1917. With striking, newly-commissioned artwork based around a key scene from each of the films, and unique packaging, these limited edition 4K releases are sure to be a must-have for any serious film collector’s shelves. Each title will build towards a numbered Film Vault collection, comprising some of the greatest titles in cinema…

The four titles are on 4K UHD for ultimate home cinema picture and sound, and packaged in an acetate slip-cover detailing the title’s numbered entry in the collection, with newly commissioned key art from Vice Press by renowned artists Matt Ferguson and Florey, printed on a rigid clamshell outer case with a magnetic clasp, that contains a digipak housing a 4K Ultra HD and a Blu-rayTM copy of the film, a branded envelope, deluxe art cards, and in some cases a reproduction ‘in world artefact’ from the film. Completing each set is a new premium collectable – a beautifully etched and individually numbered crystal display plaque, bearing each film’s title treatment and motif.

Welcome to The B-Side, from The Film Stage. Here we talk about movie stars and directors! Not the movies that made them famous or kept them famous, but the ones they made in between.

Today we get a little nasty. We get a little creepy. We dig into the works of Brian De Palma! Conor and I are joined by filmmaker and returning guest Chadd Harbold, whose new film Private Property is now available on Hulu! We also examine the film Private Property from 1960, which Harbold’s 2022 film reimagines, along with the new film’s De Palma-esque inspirations.

The B-Sides discussed are: Phantom of the Paradise, Casualties of War, Femme Fatale, and The Black Dahlia. We also take lengthy pit-stops at The Fury and Mission to Mars.

Harbold explains why Femme Fatale is De Palma’s best film, why the old, great directors need to hire young DPs when shooting digital, which actors know what they’re doing in The Black Dahlia, and which actors do NOT. There’s references to this Slant Magazine article as well as De Palma, the superb documentary from Noah Baumbach and Jake Paltrow (now streaming on Showtime). Finally, we must mention the intensive retrospective of De Palma The Film Stage took on in 2016.

Oh, and we talk about the greatness of that Mission to Mars by Ennio Morricone.

Margot Kidder is Danielle, a beautiful model separated from her Siamese twin, Dominique. When a hotshot reporter (Jennifer Salt) suspects Dominique of a brutal murder, she becomes dangerously ensnared in the sisters’ insidious sibling bond. A scary and stylish dissection of female crisis, Brian De Palma’s first foray into horror voyeurism is a stunning amalgam of split-screen effects, bloody birthday cakes, and a chilling score by frequent Alfred Hitchcock collaborator Bernard Herrmann. Film critic Carrie Ricky writes: “In movie shorthand, ‘Sisters’ paraphrases elements of ‘Rope,’ ‘Rear Window,’ ‘Vertigo,’ and ‘Psycho.’ Yet its searching camera work — often doubled in split screens suggesting both split personalities and clashing perspectives — is uniquely De Palma’s. While ‘Sisters’ is not his first overt nod to Hitchcock — that was ‘Murder à la Mod’ (1968) — it is the best, and most mordantly funny, in a career that also includes the glosses ‘Obsession’ (1976) and ‘Dressed to Kill’ (1980).”