The overall objective introduced in the opening of Blow Out is what remains a subconsciously embedded desire for Jack Terry (John Travolta) throughout the plot. Jack is a sound designer who produces audio for swiss-cheese, B-movie horror. The director he works for is in dire need for a sound bite of a scream, and Brian De Palma masterfully executes Jack’s objective with a tremendous level of subtextual undertones hiding in plain sight. It’s clearly apparent Jack’s heart isn’t in his job. In what appears to be an absolute lack of enthusiasm for finding a realistic scream, results in an inadvertent, subconscious creation by Jack’s mind, through implicit and metaphorical desires driving his motives. Upon the film’s climax, the cries for help from Sally (Nancy Allen) –a make-up artist turned call-girl– are what Jack twistedly uses for the final dubbing. Jack’s entanglement in Sally’s life begins when he records the sound of a car accident, then sets out to prove it was murder, while finding himself in grave danger. He thinks he’s proving a conspiracy theory. Nobody in the film can see the truth except for Jack, and this is precisely what makes Blow Out darkly-beautiful, and twistedly morbid.
The film has a coziness that swarms from the silver-screen into the viewers soul. In the opening sequence, as the Governor speaks on the T.V. with thunderstorms in the background, we’re invoked with a longing of nostalgia. De Palma uses his signature–a split-diopter–as Jack works on his sound files in the background, juxtaposed with the T.V. in the foreground. De Palma quickly transitions into a split-screen between the audio files and the T.V. set, where the Liberty Day Bell parade is foreshadowed. Nothing is thrown away in this meticulously written screenplay. De Palma knew precisely what he wanted for every shot. These two elements support the notion that Blow Out is his magnum opus. Not only is the script comprehensive with longwinded dialogue, a heavy premise and a solid through-line, but the expertise behind cinematic shot choices are particular and executed with precision. Every piece of information we see in the split-screen in the opening sequence is accounted for, with a notable pay-off upon the film’s climax.
Even the character of Reporter, Donahue, who delivers a speech on the news at the Liberty Bell Ball (while Jack labels his recordings) is of significance; Donahue is a vital character that reappears later in the story. De Palma informs the audience of the Governor’s attendance at the Ball, further employing tremendous levels of story in the opening sequence, alone. This sets-up Jack recording sounds in the next scene, under the dark of night, as a great suspense awaits to unfold. The audience anticipates the ensuing danger. The amplified sound of Jack recording the hoots of an owl create a mystery that something bad is about to happen. De Palma employs his trademark split-diopter of an owl in the foreground, juxtaposed with Jack in the background recording the hoot. He quickly connects this shot with the premise set-up from the information provided in the opening, which leads to the scripts catalyst: Jack recording the Governor’s car crash.
The extreme close-ups of Jack’s eyes as he listens to the “blow out” recording, and the ECU of his finger-tips twisting knobs, in conjunction with neon street signs piercing through rain-swept windows, evokes a plethora of emotions that induce a hypnosis. The wallpaper in the motel is red, white, and blue; clearly a subtextual decision by the film’s auteur alluding to patriotism. Moreover, the Liberty Bell, Government corruption and political assassination serve as an underlying theme of national conspiracy, demystified by a sound designer for cheap horror flicks. The cross-collateralization of indie filmmaking with political scandal serves as a bizarre combination in Blow Out. This juxtaposition supports why Blow Out sits at the helm of outstanding cinema, and arguably the reason why it’s considered De Palma’s most supreme film as an auteur.
“You make the shit, I do the sound.” Jack says to the director. This is De Palma’s way of supporting the auteur theory; it’s the director’s vision that ultimately takes accountability for a film’s successful outcome. The technicians (like Jack’s sound design and audio production) are merely working a j-o-b with a lack of passion. Jack’s heart opens once he rescues Sally from being trapped inside the Governor’s sedan when it crashed into the reservoir. The paradox is when we realize Jack’s conquest to prove a conspiracy; him saving Sally’s life causes her inevitable death. Sally loses her life because of Jack’s embedded, unbeknown desire to record an authentic scream. And not because she was murdered by a serial killer, while attempting to solve a conspiracy. This is precisely De Palma’s mastery at play. When Jack phones Sally for their promised date, he discovers she’s leaving town, but convinces her to meet at the train station before she elopes. “I want to get a good seat.” Sally is adamant about leaving, refusing to have the promised drink with Jack. He insists, giving her a guilt trip. “One drink. You promised.” At the bar, he still won’t let Sally leave, even as Sally appears irritated, trying to escape the danger she knows she’s involved with. Jack’s persistence gets the best of her. Had it not been for Jack at this moment in the story, Sally would have gotten away, scot-free. De Palma crafts this into a sublayer of his script, portraying the way his protagonist, Jack, possesses antihero qualities; a guilt-ridden subconscious implicitly permeating unwanted desires into existence.
Jack thinks he’s solving a conspiracy while unaware of his true objective: recording a horrifying “scream”. The irony of the story comes full-circle, after Sally screams before her death at the hands of the film’s villain, Burke (John Lithgow). In a flashback sequence, we learn that Jack wired an undercover cop. The perspiration from his skin overheated the cable, burning his chest and blowing his cover. Because of Jack’s lack of preparation when working for the Police, the undercover cop was hanged inside a bathroom by the mob (once they discovered he was wearing a wire). This is De Palma foreshadowing Sally’s forthcoming demise. We learn that Jack guilts himself for the cop’s death. His negligence ultimately gets the best of him when Sally’s murder becomes his fault (she wears a wire for him to confront Burke at the parade). The climactic showdown is signature De Palma, and the last two scenes of Blow Out are heart-wrenching; Jack sits alone on a picnic table in the cold of snow, listening with headphones to Sally’s soft, sweet voice he recorded. He reminisces with introspection; a punctured soul drowning in a hole of sorrow. In the final scene, Jack smokes a cigarette in the dark interior soundstage as Sally’s scream of death is dubbed over the horror film. With an eyeful of tears, next to an ecstatic director who finally captured the sound bite he was yearning for, Jack mutters, “It’s a good scream…it’s a good scream.” Travolta’s performance is magnificent; his inner monologue suggests: “She was trying to escape…I should have let her go.”
Final fade out over Pino Donaggio’s brilliant musical score.
written by ardalan pourvali