The film’s aesthetic is as much character as any actor: glitzy mansions, throbbing nightclub lights, and a soundtrack that throbs like a heartbeat. De Palma stages violence with operatic grandeur; each shootout and betrayal feels like a percussion strike in a tragic symphony. The infamous “Say hello to my little friend!” moment functions as both peak catharsis and emblem of excess — the line that transforms personal hubris into myth.
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