but it also possesses some incredibly nuanced character development, particularly in the dynamic between Carlito (Al Pacino)
Pacino: pictured wearing a leather duster during a heat wave––something that likely soured Pacino on subway filming at least until he played Satan in THE DEVIL'S ADVOCATE. According the the doc DE PALMA, he walked off set that night, mid-shoot!
and his scuzzy lawyer (Sean Penn, in one of his finest performances).
I'm not even joking about the caliber of Penn's work here––he's phenomenal.
Furthermore, there are brilliant supporting turns by underground NYC standby Rick Aviles,
pre-fame Viggo Mortensen (back when he was still a character actor),
a ubiquitously likable Luis Guzman, and a subtly chilling John Leguizamo.
But, as you can probably tell––being as this is an "Only now does it occur to me"––I'm about to dive into some minutiae. First, I'd like to call out a Dario Argento reference. De Palma is no stranger to giving a nod to his post-Hitchcock contemporary across the pond. Historically, DRESSED TO KILL is chock full of Argento references, and there's a pretty substantial TENEBRE homage in THE UNTOUCHABLES. Here, it's a little subtler. Pacino is stalking his ex-girlfriend Penelope Ann Miller and he follows her––in the rain––to a ballet academy.
Probably only the die-hards would read this as an abstract reference to SUSPIRIA, whose infamous opening scene involves a furtive (and voyeuristic) visit to a ballet academy in the pouring rain.
Finally, I wanted to salute the MVP of CARLITO'S WAY: Dancing Phone Call Woman. Allow me to explain.
At El Paraiso, Carlito's dance club (the name is a reference to the sandwich shop in SCARFACE), the revelers revel mostly in bottom-shelf cocaine and top-shelf disco.
De Palma is brilliant at staging group scenes with dozens of extras. Look no further than the "Relax" scene from BODY DOUBLE. Some directors don't direct their extras at all, some use an assistant director, and some assistant directors just tell the performers where to stand. De Palma is precise––incredibly so––and practically every single extra is doing something specific and visually interesting. There are no rooms of people randomly milling about, mumbling "peas and carrots, peas and carrots," wondering what the hell to do with their hands. This leads me to the all-star background artist of CARLITO'S WAY: Dancing Phone Call Woman. As De Palma's camera roams the room, in one corner, behind an open door, there is a woman on the phone. No, she is not merely on the phone––she is shaking a maraca while on the phone. And, no, she is not merely shaking a maraca while on the phone––she is dancing up a storm, twirling like Stevie Nicks, shaking a maraca, and beaming like a beauty contestant––all while making a phone call from a land line with a spiral-coil cord.
I salute you, Twirling-Dancing-Maraca-Phone Call Woman. You are a special, irreplaceable thread in the tapestry that is CARLITO'S WAY. You are a goddamned champion.
