Fortunately, De Palma's hyperbolic, visually compelling, science fiction occult espionage thriller moves so fast that the ludicrous dialog, indifferent performances, and Swiss cheese plot don't spoil the fun. The Fury starts from an interesting premise, but De Palma is clearly more interested in the spectacular set pieces than logic or characterization. The potentially most interesting character Robin is off screen for too long and instead we get low comedy relief with Mother Knuckles and the off duty cops in the Caddilac. Also, Gillian's mother and the students at the Paragon Institute seem to disappear. And where Sissy Spacek was touching as Carrie, Amy Irving and Andrew Stevens as psychic teens who unleash the fury are whiny and callow, and you don't really care about their fates. Though Douglas, Snodgress, Cassavetes and De Palma regular William Finley ( Raymond Dunwoodie) are always interesting, the rest of the cast is pretty bad. And a scene between Irving and Douglas on a bus is embarrassingly bad. Still, The Fury with its telepathic visions, its pulse pounding score by John Willams and Richard H. Kline's elegant deep focus cinematography is superior to junk like The Eyes of Laura Mars. De Palma pulls out all the stops and creates some spectacularly over-the-top scenes. Faults and all, The Fury is more entertaining, and less pretentious and derivative than most of De Palma's more recent efforts to say nothing of Dressed to Kill, Body Double, Obsession, Wise Guys, Carlito's Way, Raising Cain, and The Bonfire of the Vanities.
