Despite his great films and huge influence on several of today’s most celebrated directors (including Quentin Tarantino), Brian De Palma is somehow one of cinema’s most underrated filmmakers. While De Palma has had his share of misfires (Snake Eyes) to outright disasters (Bonfire of the Vanities), he’s also responsible for many great films (Scarface, Casualties of War, Dressed to Kill, The Untouchables, and Obsession to name a few).

In honor of the New York Film Festival premiere of Noah Baumbach and Jake Paltrow’s new documentary De Palma (read our review), which screens on October 11^th, Way Too Indie put together a list of the Top 5 Brian De Palma Films. With such a lengthy filmography and a true master of his craft, it was difficult to decide on just five of his films. So after watching the following films, be sure to check out more of his prolific catalog.

Top 5 Brian De Palma Films

#1. Blow Out (1981)

One of the greatest and most criminally under-seen films of all-time, Blow Out is a true masterpiece in every sense of the word, up there with the best of fellow new Hollywood greats like Spielberg, Scorsese, and Coppola. Featuring John Travolta’s best performance, it makes you wonder how (outside of Pulp Fiction) he has been so spectacularly wasted throughout most of his career. Pino Donaggio’s heartbreakingly beautiful score will sit with you for days after hearing it, no matter how many times you’ve heard it before. Nancy Allen is at her most charismatic, her chemistry with Travolta so rich and natural. At one point while jotting down notes for this article I simply wrote “VILMOS FUCKING ZSIGMOND”, the incredible cinematographer who is a frequent collaborator with De Palma. (Note: Zsigmond’s middle name isn’t “Fucking”, but I’ll be damned if that’s not how I pronounce it every time I watch the many ambitious photographed sequences in Blow Out.)

But the real star of the show is of course, Brian De Palma. Blow Out is the moment when it all clicked in place, all the tools and style De Palma had been toying with and perfecting over the years are on full display here. Beautiful, and in some cases groundbreaking, use of split diopters, Steadicam, split screens, and expert audio editing demonstrates his technically proficient skills. But this is also De Palma’s most mature film. Though not completely void of some of his trademark sleaze and sophomoric humor, Blow Out is a classic thriller that illustrates the frustrations of a person in post-Watergate America tired of the political cover-ups. The film also contains the most tragic, painful, and beautifully executed ending I’ve ever seen in a film.

Do yourself a favor and buy a copy of the Criterion Collection’s release of Blow Out on DVD & Blu-ray. Don’t download it, don’t wait for it on Netflix, buy the Criterion release. You won’t regret it.

#2. Carrie (1976)

Shield your eyes Kubrick super-fans, not only is this one of the strongest horror films of the ’70s, it’s also the best film adaptation of a Stephen King horror story. Don’t get me wrong, The Shining is excellent (so put down that Jack Torrance’s axe), but De Palma’s Carrie is so stylistically rich and anchored by an incredible performance from Sissy Spacek that it’s impossible to turn away from. Spacek and Piper Laurie’s Academy Award-nominated performances (along with Travolta’s stellar work in Blow Out show what a great director of actors Brian De Palma has been throughout his career. Make sure to see this right away if you haven’t already, and if you have, it’s the perfect time for a rewatch.

#3. Carlito’s Way (1993)

One of the more underrated De Palma films and certainly not as widely known as his other collaboration with Al Pacino, but Carlito’s Way is De Palma’s finest crime drama, even superior to Scarface in just about every way. Pacino is in top form here and (along with his Michael Mann collaborations) delivered some of his finest work since the ‘70s. Sean Penn heads up a strong supporting cast. Stephen Burum’s cinematography is exquisite. And David Koepp’s script brings a solid foundation that is missing from most of De Palma’s efforts in this decade.

#4. Sisters (1973)

Along with 1974’s Phantom of the Paradise, Sisters was the film that set in motion the De Palma we know today. The film demonstrated just how versatile he could be considering his earlier work on counter-culture comedies. While Sisters is rough around the edges in some areas, the talent is very clear. De Palma has always been accused of being a Hitchcock rip-off artist and it’s easy to see why when watching something like Sisters (or better yet, Dressed to Kill). But lost in that criticism is the fact that De Palma has always been experimenting and curating his own style by way of his Hitchcock influence. That experimentation is rarely more evident than it is in Sisters with its heavy use of split screens and De Palma allowing the exploitation side of him show with increasingly graphic imagery.

#5. Mission: Impossible (1996)

Still the best entry in the Mission: Impossible franchise despite lacking the thrill of high stakes stunts executed by Cruise himself (an area the last two films have excelled in). Where De Palma one-ups the others is his handling of smaller, quieter moments that create an intensity that permeates the whole film (rather than just a few minutes of insane stunts). This proved that De Palma can handle the big scenes as well, the scene where Cruise’s Ethan Hunt steals the NOC list from C.I.A. headquarters is one of the most masterfully directed sequences of his career.

It can’t get more direct than getting to hear the word from the source himself. De Palma features only one interview subject: the Blow Out, Carrie and Scarface (how do you only choose three?!) filmmaker, Brian De Palma. What could have easily been a self-indulgent or rose-tinted retrospective discussion is made fascinating by De Palma’s openness about his aspirations and influences, as well as his willingness to admit to several failures. That forthright demeanor is what might make De Palma accessible to those who don’t even consider themselves De Palma fans in the slightest. It’s also why, for the De Palma championers, this documentary is an ideal look into the director’s collected works. Brian De Palma’s noteworthy career is put into new perspective by the man at its helm.

Filmmakers Noah Baumbach (Greenberg, Frances Ha) and Jake Paltrow (The Good Night, Young Ones) seem like an odd pair to author a portrait on the legendary Brian De Palma; however, the trio of directors frequently have dinner with one another, engaging in conversations apparently not too dissimilar to this one—filmed in Paltrow’s living room. Baumbach & Paltrow jump cut through De Palma’s responses in a way that maintains a speedy pace. The rapid assembly assures that the film never really wastes a moment. They briefly acknowledge the filmmaker’s upbringing before speeding into De Palma’s early career, leaving most of the runtime for diving into his filmography piece by piece. Certain sections go into greater depth than others, although it’s not always the expected films where De Palma decides to go into detail. His work on the aforementioned films as well as The Bonfire of the Vanities, Casualties of War and Home Movies are all given extended sequences in which De Palma gets specific on his vision, then trashes on all subsequent film and TV versions of Carrie.

De Palma has plenty of name-dropping and behind-the-scenes stories to satisfy movie nerds. Some photosets show De Palma dining with friends Francis Ford Coppola, George Lucas, Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg—there’s even an old home movie of Spielberg calling Lucas from a car phone. Among the most fascinating looks into the production process that De Palma provides is the director’s account of how he became attached to Scarface, before abandoning the film while Sidney Lumet took over, only to return to the director’s chair before filming commenced. When De Palma brings up his inspirations, from personal experiences like watching his doctor father’s surgeries to cultural influences like Orson Welles’ The Magnificent Ambersons, the movie makes the filmmaker’s artistic ambitions much clearer.

There are points where De Palma’s single subject structure limits its insights. De Palma mostly waves off the accusations of misogyny in his films and chooses to not elaborate on his divorces. Yet, De Palma is willing to address his legacy honestly more than one would assume from a director of his stature. The result is a captivating look through an iconic filmmaker’s work that goes far beyond a simple DVD commentary feature. The documentary sheds enough light on the long list of movies attributed to Mr. De Palma that you’ll want to revisit the ones you’ve seen and finally watch the titles that you’ve put off.

Brian De Palma makes classics–from the gangster guts ‘n’ glory of Scarface to the thrilling cinematic barrage of Blow Out, his films will go down as some of the best in memory. Much like Gus Van Sant did with his re-imagining of Psycho, director Kimberly Peirce (Boys Don’t Cry, Stop Loss) faces a seemingly insurmountable uphill battle with her remake of one of De Palma’s greatest, the cult horror classic, Carrie. And, just like Van Sant, she bravely goes toe to toe, scene for scene, with an all-time great auteur, essentially mimicking the narrative structure of De Palma’s film which inherently, daringly says, “I can do better.” She’s got guts.

Look–it’s not impossible to improve upon a classic. Just look at De Palma’s own Scarface or Joe Cocker’s version of The Beatles’ “With a Little Help From My Friends.” Does Peirce hold her own against the excellence of De Palma’s 1976 original? On some levels, yes, she does–her riffs on certain scenes are actually better than De Palma’s. But, overall, Peirce’s film is bested by the elegance, purity, and raw high school terror of the original, as she wastes time with trivial infusions of modernity and assembles a glaringly uneven cast.

The weight of the horned beast that is high school is enough to break anybody, and when you’re a bullied social outcast like Carrie White (Chloe Grace Moretz), the pressure is tremendous. Compounding the horrors of high school is her traumatic home life, which she shares with her psychotic, self-destructive mother, Margaret (Julianne Moore, monstrous), who beats into Carrie’s head (sometimes literally) that life’s pleasures are constructs of the devil and stuffs her into a dingy closet full of gothic religious knick-knacks on the regular. When we, along with Carrie, discover that she has potentially destructive (Peirce hammers this home) telekinetic powers, all of a sudden we have a classic “ticking time bomb” story on our hands. Smashed between two equally unbearable worlds, it’s only a matter of time before Carrie’s frustration erupts in a shower of destruction.

The original story (penned by Stephen King in the novel that spawned it all) had a simple shape, an elegant upward curve tarting with a trickle of blood–a flock of mean girls “stoning” a desperately confused Carrie with tampons–and ending with a bucket of pig’s blood that prompts Carrie to unleash hell. Peirce, however, mucks it up by introducing the modern complication of cell phone videos-gone-viral, which adds nothing interesting to the story and only serves to meddle with the pitch-perfect flow of King’s narrative. She’s also crafted a much more brutal, gory film here, with the super-power violence of the finale bearing a striking resemblance to the carnage at the end of last year’s Chronicle (a similar film, in many ways). The disgusting kills Peirce presents don’t seem to gel with the story as much as De Palma’s tamer sequences, but hell, the epic gore-storm is still a ton of fun to watch.

Sissy Spacek was iconic in her turn as the vengeful Carrie, and Moretz puts on a fine performance herself, though the blood-soaked dress doesn’t fit her quite as well. Moretz doesn’t convey frailty or meekness as well as Spacek does (few could), but the camera loves her (she was born to be on screen) and her more imposing physicality appropriately matches the inflated violence of Peirce’s version of the tale. During the explosive finale, she’s an otherworldly force of nature that’s more bad-ass (Kick-Ass?) than frightening, and though I prefer De Palma and Spacek’s more chilling take on the character, Peirce and Moretz super-villain version of Carrie White is stunning in its own right.

As mentioned, the cast is uneven, but sitting right at the top of the slope is Julianne Moore, who is, actually, much more terrifying and riveting than Piper Laurie, who originally played the sadistic Momma White. Moore’s deranged whispers and coos toe the line between disturbing and silly, but like the veteran she is, she always lands on the side of the former. She inflicts just as much, if not more, damage on herself than she does her daughter, jabbing sharp objects into her arms and thighs constantly, in some twisted form of repentance. The scenes between Moore and Moretz are unquestionably the best in the film, and they make the drama that plays out in the high school seem like they’re from a different, lesser movie. Portia Doubleday plays a decent bitch as Chris Hargensen, Carrie’s prime tormentor, but Gabriella Wilde is useless as Sue Snell, a remorseful rich girl who pushes her boyfriend Tommy (Ansel Elgort) to take Carrie to the prom in a misguided act of charity. When sharing the screen with pros the caliber of Moore and Moretz, it’s hard not to get overshadowed, and they do.

Cinematically, Carrie no slouch, with some truly expertly crafted sequences. In De Palma’s film, a scene in which Tommy asks Carrie to prom on her doorstep at night is unremarkable at best, with Spacek looking over her shoulder in fear that her mother will catch them. In Peirce’s riff on the sequence, she puts the teens out in front of the house in broad daylight, with Moretz frantically scanning the road for her mother’s car, as she could be arriving at any moment. It’s much more suspenseful and engaging than the original setup, which says a lot about Peirce as a filmmaker. While De Palma’s Carrie is a film of camerawork, Peirce’s is one of editing, employing subjective cuts and slow-motion to generate momentum.

It’s difficult not to compare Carrie to the original 1976 version due to Peirce’s decision to essentially tell the same story, with only a few tweaks and updates here and there. While Peirce’s more muscly, less refined film doesn’t quite measure up to De Palma’s masterpiece, it dwarfs the typical torture-porn fare that we’re so inundated with during Halloween season. The ambition of Peirce, Moretz, and Moore shines through in the film’s strongest moments, and though the supporting players and shaky contemporary revisions weigh the film down, Peirce deserves credit for putting up one hell of a fight.