1973: The Sting.

Con artists Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman) and Johnny
Hooker (Robert Redford) find themselves in a sticky situation...

Release Date: Dec. 25, 1973. Running Time: 129 minutes. Written by: David S. Ward. Producer: Tony Bill, Michael Phillips, Julia Phillips. Director: George Roy Hill.


THE PLOT:

Johnny Hooker (Robert Redford) is a talented small-time grifter who has learned from the best around in his Depression-era tenement: aging con artist Luther Coleman (Robert Earl Jones). After they swindle an unsuspecting mark out of $11 thousand, Luther decides it's time to retire, urging Hooker to use his talents to work "the big con."

Then disaster strikes. Their mark was actually working for a numbers running operation, and he was delivering that money to the ruthless Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw). Soon Luther is dead, and Hooker is left on the run - and with a burning desire to avenge his murdered mentor.

He looks up Luther's old friend, Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman). Once a master confidence man, Gondorff is now hiding from the FBI after a job gone wrong. But he still has his skills, knowledge, and contacts, and Lonnegan has enough wealth to be a tempting target... as long as they can pull off a con that will not only part the criminal with his money, but also keep him fooled so that he doesn't go after them.

With Gondorff's circle of veteran con men assisting, it doesn't take long to set a scheme in motion. But complications await: A corrupt cop (Charles Durning) nurses a grudge against Hooker; an FBI agent (Dana Elcar) is closing in on Gondorff; and Lonnegan's hit men are getting ever nearer. The smart thing to do would be to call the whole thing off - but that's the one thing Hooker isn't willing to do, regardless of the consequences.

Hooker baits Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw).

CHARACTERS:

Gondorff: "Revenge is for suckers. I've been grifting thirty years, I never got any." By this point in his career, Paul Newman was moving toward character roles. He doesn't so much act the role of Gondorff as inhabit him, which perfectly suits the way the script treats the character. The viewer is never told who Gondorff is, but is instead left to observe him. What we see is a sort of grifter general, assigning roles to the various soldiers in his team. He watches events unfold, making notes about what problems will need solved. He's an excellent judge of character. He senses Lonnegan's weakness is his pride, and he exploits that by repeatedly insulting and belittling him over the game of poker that is the con's "hook." He also senses that Hooker isn't telling him everything, and he chides him for that: "You can't play your friends like marks."

Hooker: The main character, Hooker isn't a complete neophyte. He may be a small time grifter, but he's talented enough that Luther urges him to look up Gondorff. This makes him enough a part of the grifting world for it to be believable that he's a key part of the big con, but also enough of an outsider for Gondorff and his friends to relate exposition about their planned swindle to us through him. He's the character with the biggest emotional stake in the story. Gondorff was also Luther's friend, but he scorns the very idea of revenge, while Hooker is driven by a need to do something to Lonnegan, wanting to con him because "I don't know enough about killing to kill him."

Lonnegan: Robert Shaw is one of those mystifying cases of a great actor who appeared in multiple classics, and who somehow never won an Oscar. Lonnegan could have been a two-dimensional baddie, but Shaw puts layers into his malevolence. There's genuine menace in his glare, his growling voice, and even his movements, as if his every waking moment is a struggle to hold himself back from direct violence. Pride is his defining trait and his biggest weakness. This is a man who likely endured a plethora of insults in his youth, and he reacts angrily to even the suggestion of an insult now. He insists on killing Hooker less because he's worried about seeming vulnerable, even though that's the motive he claims, and more because he, himself, cannot abide the thought of having lost to "one lousy grifter."

Lt. Snyder: Actor Charles Durning would play variations on this role a lot: a corrupt, none-too-bright authority figure. When Snyder learns about the score Luther and Hooker pulled off, he immediately shakes down the young con artist, demanding a share under threat of tipping off Lonnegan. Hooker foists him off with some counterfeit bills, earning the policeman's wrath for the rest of the picture. Snyder is regarded scornfully by everyone: Hooker, Gondorff's girlfriend (Eileen Brennan), and the FBI all blow him off as a fool - but his proximity to the con and his knowledge of Hooker mean that he's not a fool who can simply be ignored.

The Gang: Though they're supporting players, each member of Gondorff's inner circle receives a few choice moments to contribute not only to the title sting, but also to the film's entertainment value. Harold Gould's Kid Twist is a consummate actor, at one point showing up in overalls to pass himself off as a painter to get into a banker's office, then unzipping the overalls to emerge in a business suit to adopt the role of a timid executive. Ray Walston's J. J. Singleton is entertaining every time he appears, and I particularly enjoyed his glee as he talks about Lonnegan's habit of cheating at cards. John Heffernan's Niles looks like an office worker, and he's enlisted to the con while actually working in a bank. Jack Kehoe's Erie was another of Luther's students, and he is as eager as Hooker to contribute to bringing down Lonnegan. Cumulatively, these characters round out the cast and help to bring this world to life.

Hooker and Luther (Robert Earl Jones) discover just how big a score they've made.
They don't realize how dangerous an enemy they've made at the same time.

THOUGHTS:

As much as I enjoy The Sting - which is a lot - it would not have been my choice as 1973's Best Picture. The Exorcist was just as meticulously produced and just as well acted, and it was clear even at the time that it was destined to leave a cultural impact. Even among films that weren't nominated, I'd point to Fred Zinnemann's excellent film of Frederick Forsyth's The Day of the Jackal, which more or less created the "lone assassin" subgenre as we know it. In my opinion, either of those titles would have been a better choice as Best Picture.

But as I've said before, another movie being more deserving doesn't represent a fault in the winning movie. The Sting is a great Hollywood entertainment. It features big stars at their most charming in a witty romp that creates excitement less through action than through expert plotting. It's the type of film that, after a viewing, almost demands a regretful sigh of, "They don't make them like that anymore."

It's been about twenty years since I last watched this, but I remembered the major twists. Given how much of this movie is built around double-crosses, reversals, and surprises, I had expected that it would lose something on rewatch. Oddly, I think I enjoyed it more this time around. The screenplay doesn't cheat. Each of the plot turns is carefully set up in a way that doesn't telegraph them for first-time viewers, but that is visible on rewatch. This makes it fun to spot these moments as they occur.

Gondorff's inner circle reviews information and plans their big con.

The script is superbly structured. It opens not with the con artists, but with the numbers operation, following the initial mark to his fateful encounter with Luther and Hooker. This allows the viewer to share the experience of being conned, with the viewpoint only switching to Hooker's after the money has changed hands. It also foreshadows what will happen next; we know before Hooker and Luther do that their ill-gotten cash is from organized crime, creating tension for the viewer even as the next couple of scenes provide exposition.

Luther steers Hooker to Gondorff, so that the veteran confidence man is expecting his new protégé even before the violence. The first sight of Gondorff is also the only time that he's completely unkempt, sleeping off a drunken stupor. The indication is that keeping a low profile, not engaging in cons, is leaving him directionless. As soon as he has a target, he becomes instantly sharper, his attitude and entire physical bearing changing from slovenly to focused. These scenes also establish that Gondorff is hiding from the FBI, laying groundwork for the FBI agent to enter the story in the final third.

I won't discuss more of the plot for fear of accidentally spoiling or hinting at things. I will say that there isn't any wasted space. Scenes are allowed to play out as long as needed, and there is a nice reflective moment just before the big finale. Still, every scene - including that moment of reflection - does something to advance the story.

Production values are impeccable, and the music score - composer Marvin Hamlisch's adaptations of Scott Joplin's ragtime compositions - elevates the sense of setting while being a perfect accompaniment to the action. All the individual pieces here are good, and they are put together to form a terrifically entertaining whole.

An establishing shot of 1930s Chicago displays the impeccable production values,
which are nowhere to be found in the ill-advised, cheap-looking sequel.

SEQUEL:

1983's The Sting II had a script from David S. Ward, the writer of the original film... and that's about all that can be said in its favor. I can't find a record of its budget, but I'm guessing it was much cheaper. In contrast to the original's production values, the sequel looks like a mid-1980s TV flick, and not even one of the event ones. Also, Paul Newman and Robert Redford are replaced with Jackie Gleason and Mac Davis as "Fargo Gondorff" and "Jake Hooker." I love Gleason, even if by the '80s his best days were behind him, but him as a recast for Newman is more than a slight head-scratcher.

Likely sensing the flack they would get for the downgrade, the studio attempted to publicize these as new characters - but given that they had the same basic personalities and relationships, and that the entire story revolved around Lonnegan (Oliver Reed, taking over for the late Robert Shaw) getting revenge for being conned, the claim doesn't stand up to much scrutiny.

It opened to savage reviews, and I suspect it should stay as it is now: a mostly forgotten footnote that simply shouldn't have been attempted.

Hooker indulges in a moment of reflection on the eve of the big con.

OVERALL:

I don't really think it deserved the award, but I also don't mind that it won. It's rare that something lighthearted wins Best Picture, so it's always pleasant to encounter such a film in this review series. Besides, this is a very good picture, benefitting from an outstanding production, a terrific script, and fine actors who are all in top form.

Most of all, it's just a fun time at the movies.


Rating: 8/10.

Best Picture - 1972: The Godfather
Best Picture - 1974: The Godfather, Part II (not yet reviewed)

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1972: The Godfather.

Don Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando) hears petitions on the day of his daughter's wedding.

Release Date: Mar. 14, 1972. Running Time: 175 minutes. Screenplay: Mario Puzo, Francis Ford Coppola. Based on the novel by: Mario Puzo. Producer: Albert S. Ruddy. Director: Francis Ford Coppola.


THE PLOT:

Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando) is the don of the Corleone Family, the most powerful of the organized crime families operating in New York, 1945. Vito has police, judges, and politicians on his payroll, with rising mob figure Sollozzo (Al Lettieri) observing that he carries them "in (his) pocket, like so many nickels and dimes." When Sollozzo asks Vito to provide protection while he sets up a narcotics distribution network, Vito refuses, fearing that his contacts "wouldn't be friendly very long" if his business shifted to include drugs.

Sollozzo is not a man to take "no" for an answer, and Vito is shot not long after. He survives - just barely - but his recovery will be long, leaving his short-fused eldest son, Santino "Sonny" Corleone (James Caan), in charge. Against the advice of family consigliere Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall), Sonny goes to war with Sollozzo and his sponsors, the Tattaglia Family.

Caught in the middle is Michael (Al Pacino), Vito's youngest son. Michael forged a separate path, joining the army and becoming a hero during World War II. He has a non-Italian girlfriend, Kay (Diane Keaton), and he's emphatic that he wants no part of the family business. But as it becomes clear that his father is still a target for the Corleones' enemies, he realizes that he has only one way to save the old man and give the family space to negotiate peace: Kill Sollozzo himself!

Vito negotiates with his rivals.

MARLON BRANDO AS DON VITO CORLEONE:

Rarely do I think that a role had to be played by a particular actor, no matter how well the casting worked out, but I cannot imagine anyone other than Marlon Brando as Vito Corleone. Vito's actual screen time is limited, yet the nature of the story requires that he be its dominant figure. Brando makes this look effortless. When he's on screen, you can't take your eyes off him. When he's not (which is most of the time), his absence is equally tangible.

Much of this comes from sheer physical presence, along with excellent use of makeup and costuming. Vito takes care with his appearance, his thin hair slicked back and his mustache perfectly trimmed. He dresses impeccably, and he's almost always seen in some form of suit and tie, from the formal wear at his daughter's wedding to business suits in more casual settings. The only time he's untidy is when he's recovering from being shot, barely back on his feet. Even in this diminished condition, when he meets with someone outside the family less than an hour later, he is again wearing a suit and tie.

Brando is excellent. The voice he uses is perfectly judged: quiet and slow, reflecting the don's care in choosing each word. Vito initially seems to be an unknowable cipher - until he's alone with trusted members of his family, when he gives tiny rolls of his eyes or little exhales of weariness to show his exhaustion at the parade of petitioners. This reveals his humanity, with flashes of humor and annoyance, which makes it fully consistent when he gets a couple of larger emotional moments later. He has one line, about how a person close to him was "massacred," that is spoken with naked emotion that would be effective on its own, and that is made all the more powerful by its contrast with Vito's normal soft reserve.

It's a great performance on its own. It's also one of the very few times that I think a piece of film casting was not just well-advised, but indispensable to the success of the movie (so of course Coppola had to fight the studio to cast him).

Michael Corleone (Al Pacino), glaring coldly while attending a funeral.

AL PACINO AS MICHAEL CORLEONE:

"That's my family, Kay, it's not me."

Though Vito is the movie's center of gravity, Michael is its true main character, and he has the most significant arc. He shares stories with Kay about his father's business, being open with her about where he comes from. That openness drops away as the story unfolds. When it becomes clear that his father will remain in danger as long as Sollozzo lives, he's the one who devises the plan to kill him - a plan that depends on their enemies seeing him as a non-threatening "civilian."

This was Al Pacino's starmaking role, and he's mesmerizing. His performance is characterized by stillness. The scene in which he lays out the plan for Sonny and Tom is when he takes control, and he does so quietly. He sits in the center of frame, barely moving as he lays out his plan, step by careful step. The camera moves slowly in on him until we're right in front of his eyes, which are cold and focused.

Pacino does a lot of acting with his eyes. In the scene in which Michael carries out the shooting, Michael seems to hesitate. His eyes dart about wildly as Sollozzo speaks (in Italian, untranslated), until the moment finally comes to take action. He shoots Sollozzo before moving onto the second target - and it's then, as he shoots the second man, that his eyes display all of the character's rage.

It's a performance that's both complementary to and in contrast with Brando's. Pacino's Michael has his father's patience and tactical sense. But Vito is a warm figure, particularly around his family. By the time Michael is actively working with The Family, his few flashes of warmth are reserved only for his father. He is cold to everyone else, trusted advisors and siblings as well as rivals. At one point, he warns one of his brothers, "Don't ever take sides with anyone against the Family again." The threat is all the more chilling for his absolute lack of visible emotion.

Sonny (James Caan) is too impulsive to be a good leader.

JAMES CAAN AS SANTINO "SONNY" CORLEONE:

"Never tell anybody outside the Family what you're thinking!"

Vito snaps this to Sonny, trying to impart a lesson, but he's asking the impossible. Throughout the movie, Sonny's every emotion is written on his face and clearly audible in his voice. Sonny isn't stupid, but he is governed by impulse. This, in combination with a lack of patience to think before acting, makes his reactions predictable and thus easily manipulated.

James Caan makes his Sonny the opposite of Pacino's Michael. Pacino is still, speaking with little emotion and acting with his eyes. Caan is almost constantly in motion, pacing the room like a trapped animal. He acts with his hands, gesturing with almost every word he speaks. Because his emotions are so open, his Sonny has the warmth that Pacino's Michael lacks. One senses that, in happier times, he's likely as generous to his friends as he is dangerous to his enemies.

He has a close bond with his adopted brother, Tom Hagen. He's the one who found Tom and brought him into the Corleone family. Even when they clash, Sonny is quick to flare up, but equally quick to apologize. These qualities and Caan's performance make him more likable than his actions would suggest... but he's not cut out to be a leader, and Vito later acknowledges as much.

The Corleones pose for a family photo at Connie's wedding.

OTHER CHARACTERS:

Tom Hagen: Though not a Corleone by blood, he was raised by Vito, and his personality seems to halve the difference between Michael and Sonny. Like Michael, he is calm and patient. He lacks Michael's tactical shrewdness, but he is able to recognize the complicated realities of a given situation. Unlike Michael, he isn't cold. Even as he advises caution in responding to Vito's shooting, he is visibly shaken by what's happened. When another tragedy strikes, he has to stop and pour himself a drink before reporting it, and he seems to be just barely holding himself back from tears. Robert Duvall is more contained than Caan and less intense than Pacino, but he's every bit as good as them. He's more often than not in the background, but he reacts to other people's words - or, in some cases, carefully not reacting.

Clemenza: We first hear his name when Vito, after agreeing to provide "justice" to the undertaker, tells Tom to assign that job to him, with Clemenza (Richard Castellano) chosen specifically because he doesn't want this taken care of by someone who will go overboard. This shows that Vito trusts his judgment as much as his loyalty. Clemenza presents a casual front, giving Michael an impromptu cooking lesson during a crisis and chatting about how "they should have stopped Hitler at Munich." This is probably his authentic personality, but he uses it to his advantage. He puts a victim at ease with banter during a car ride, then has the man pull over so that he can "take a leak" while the hit is carried out. His loyalty to Vito definitely extends to Sonny, but he's more wary of Michael, seeming to see the youngest Corleone son as weak.

Sollozzo: The most visible villain of the piece, though it's made clear from the start that he has powerful backers and that he's not really in charge. Vito grants him a meeting as a sign of respect to "a serious man." When Tom reads his background to Vito, he observes that Sollozzo uses violence "only in matters of business or some sort of reasonable complaint." When he tells Michael that he respects his father, he means it... but he also means it when he says that Vito is "slipping." Al Lettieri feels absolutely authentic in the role, and he presents just the right amount of a threat: Enough to be taken seriously, but not quite enough to ever feel like the Corleones' true adversary.

Kay: Michael's girlfriend, Kay (Diane Keaton) is the perfect embodiment of middle America: well-educated and independent enough to push back when Michael goes to work for his father, but not so independent that she doesn't allow him to take charge. She shows flashes of a strong will, but she also comes across as sheltered and more than a little naive. Her role is very much a supporting one (if memory serves, she gets more in the sequel), but Diane Keaton does some excellent nonverbal acting in two scenes: when Kay passes a newsstand and sees that Vito has been shot; and at the very end, as she realizes exactly who Michael has become.

Connie/Fredo: The remaining Corleone siblings. Connie (Talia Shire) seems a lot like Sonny, reacting to situations with strong emotion instead of stopping and thinking. Not surprisingly, she seems to have a very close relationship with Sonny, far more so than with Michael. Fredo (John Cazale, excellent as always) is the weakest of the Corleone children. He has poor judgment, giving trust to the wrong people on two occasions. He's emotional, weeping openly when Vito is shot. Later, after he's sent to Las Vegas to keep him away from the conflict, he comes to fancy himself a big shot - and he's likely the only person in the room who doesn't realize how pathetically unearned his swagger really is.

Vito reflects upon his life to Michael.

THOUGHTS:

"I worked my whole life, I don't apologize, to take care of my family. And I refused to be a fool, dancing on a string held by all those big shots. I don't apologize, that's my life."
-Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando), talking about his life, expresses both regret and defiance.

The Godfather is all but undisputed as one of the "great films" of American cinema. Its plot really isn't anything special - with slight adjustments, the same story could have been told in the mid-1940s in which the movie's set, and the result likely would have been an entertaining 90-minute programmer. What makes it special is the way all the elements come together to form something larger, from the impeccable period detail to the casting to composer Nino Rota's instantly recognizable main theme. All the individual parts are good, and the whole that they build is even greater.

This is a movie featuring Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, James Caan, and Robert Duvall - and it's a movie in which all of them give performances that rank among their best. The actors are well-cast, feeling convincing as members of the same family. When Al Pacino, James Caan, and Robert Duvall interact, I don't feel like I'm being told that they're brothers - I can see that they are, and that each has his own individual relationship with the others.

Beyond the acting, this is a remarkably cinematic film. Each frame is beautifully lit and shot. You can find long essays about the way The Godfather uses light and shadow to convey characters' shifts in morality. Francis Ford Coppola kicked off his greatest period as a director here, and he's in absolute control of his craft.

The scene in which Michael proposes the plan to kill Sollozzo is a particular example. The scene begins with its focus on Sonny and Tom, drawing attention to them as they argue in loud voices and with strong gestures. Then Michael speaks up - softly, calmly. The camera slowly moves to him, sitting still in a chair in the center of the room. The contrast of his stillness versus the others' motion makes him an instantly compelling presence. Tom moves to the opposite side of the room, so that Michael is between him and Sonny, and he agrees when Michael says that Sollozzo will keep trying to kill their father.

Sonny tries to regain control by mocking his brother, but Michael doesn't take the bait. The camera creeps in as he lays out his plan, ending on his eyes, which are pure ice. All the pieces - staging, acting, lighting, camera - come together in this moment, a significant one: Not only does Michael move from being outside the Family to inside it, he also is transformed from a member of the movie's ensemble to its central character.

Throughout the film, Coppola and his production team continue to use cinematic techniques in this way to complement each beat of the script. No visual flourish is ever "just" a flourish. Even in the justly famous climax, it never just feels like Coppola is showing off. Every shot, every music choice, every cut and line and bit of staging is there to support the story being told.

Michael comes up with a plan, in the scene that transforms him into the movie's main character.

"IT'S NOT PERSONAL, SONNY. IT'S STRICTLY BUSINESS."

The characters insist on a separation between what's "personal" and what's "business," but this divide is never successfully maintained. At Connie's wedding, Don Vito Corleone takes a parade of requests, mere yards from where his guests are celebrating. The FBI takes photos of the license plates of the guests, while Don Barzini (Richard Conte) rips up the film of a wedding photographer who made the mistake of taking his picture.

The blurring of "personal" and "business" is shown throughout. Corleone family issues that would be counted as "personal" are used by rivals to manipulate Sonny. When Michael lays out his plan, Sonny scoffs that he's "taking this very, very personal." Michael calmly denies it - but when he shoots Sollozzo and a second target, the anger in his eyes shows that Sonny wasn't actually wrong. Assassins later attempt to kill Michael and end up killing someone else - inflicting a "personal" loss while conducting "business." Michael later does the same on a larger scale, using a personal function to "settle all Family business."

The characters may insist that there is separation, but the opposite is what is shown (to sometimes tragic effect)... and, more than once, the people insisting that this divide exists are doing so with absolute, self-serving hypocrisy.

Michael visits middle brother Fredo (John Cazale) in Las Vegas.

SEQUELS AND AN ALTERNATE VERSION:

Gangster pictures were nothing new, having been a mainstay of 1930s and '40s cinema. The Godfather revitalized the genre by combining period and cultural authenticity with an almost operatic quality. It draws the viewer into its world, one that feels both real and larger-than-life at the same time - and moviegoers responded, resulting in it becoming the highest grossing film of 1972.

Naturally, a sequel followed two years later... and would itself go on to win Best Picture, so I'll be discussing it fairly soon. A third entry, The Godfather, Part III, came out more than 15 years later; though it proved to be a financial success, it is almost universally regarded as far weaker than the two 1970s movies.

An alternate version was released to television as a 1977 mini-series, The Godfather Saga. Authorized by Francis Ford Coppola in large part to raise more money for Apocalypse Now, this version re-edits the first two Godfather movies, rearranging them into strictly chronological order, while also integrating many deleted scenes.

It's worth a watch after viewing the two movies individually, but I consider the theatrical films superior. Amerigo Bonasera's, "I believe in America," and Connie's wedding create the perfect introduction to this world; and while the deleted scenes are interesting to see, most of them were cut for good reason.

Vito and Tom Hagen (Robert Duvall) comfort each other after a family tragedy.

OVERALL:

The Godfather runs just shy of three hours, but it never feels long. The individual filmmaking elements combine with meticulous period detail to create a world that we're drawn into. The film's world is absolutely consistent. At no point does anything jar us out of the internal reality. From the opening minutes, we are immersed in this particular time, place, and culture.

The result has been justifiably labeled a cinematic masterpiece. It's a movie that anyone who genuinely loves film should see, and probably more than once.


Rating: 10/10.

Best Picture - 1971: The French Connection
Best Picture - 1973: The Sting

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1971: The French Connection.

NYPD detective Jimmy "Popeye" Doyle (Gene Hackman) catches the case of his life.

Release Date: Oct. 7, 1971. Running Time: 104 minutes. Screenplay: Ernest Tidyman. Based on the book by: Robin Moore. Producer: Philip D'Antoni. Director: William Friedkin.


THE PLOT:

NYPD narcotics detective Jimmy "Popeye" Doyle (Gene Hackman) takes his partner, Buddy Russo (Roy Scheider) out for drinks. It's meant to be a bit of after-work relaxation... until Doyle notices small-time criminal Sal Boca (Tony Lo Bianco) making a show of being a big spender for a group of mobsters. On a hunch, the two detectives spend a week following Sal. When they link him to Joel Weinstock (Harold Gary), a laywer known for bankrolling drug buys, they go to their captain (Eddie Egan) to open an official investigation.

A wiretap eventually turns up a meeting between Sal and a Frenchman, Alain Charnier (Fernando Rey). It's clear enough that Charnier is bringing drugs into New York, and that Sal is facilitating the deal. But as their surveillance drags on, their captain's support starts to falter - just as Charnier begins to worry that Doyle represents a threat to his plans...

An angry Doyle argues with his colleagues, as his partner (Roy Scheider) looks on.

CHARACTERS:

Jimmy "Popeye" Doyle: The French Connection doesn't do much direct characterization, preferring to let the audience observe the characters' behavior. Several mentions are made of a past incident in which one of Doyle's hunches ended with the death of another officer. We never learn exactly what happened, leaving us to draw our own conclusions - though it's clear that FBI agent Mulderig (Bill Hickman) blames Doyle. The detective stumbles across the case by chance, sensing something "off" about Sal and insisting on tailing him. He then refuses to let go, clinging to the pursuit like a junkyard dog who's found a meaty bone. Things take on a personal dimension after he tails Charnier. The Frenchman shakes him off at the subway, smirking and waving as his train leaves the angry policeman behind. A humiliated Doyle neither forgives nor forgets, as shown by him reciprocating that gesture at the movie's end.

Charnier: He's Doyle's opposite. The detective is "a mess," by his own partner's description, living in a dingy apartment, wearing frayed and off-rack clothes, and indulging in one-night stands. Charnier carries himself with dignity and confidence. He lives in a mansion in Marseilles and seems happily married to a much younger woman (Ann Rebbot). Doyle has a hair trigger temper, while Charnier is eternally calm. Fernando Rey lends the presence of a classic European aristocrat to the role. His poise is so perfect that it's telling when even small cracks emerge near the end.

Russo: Doyle's partner, whose job includes the unofficial duty of keeping him in check. When the two run down a suspect early in the movie, Russo is happy to deliver a few kicks - but he also stops his partner from going further. He holds back Doyle repeatedly during verbal spats with Agent Mulderig, inserting himself between the two to keep their disputes verbal instead of physical. He also disapproves of his partner's casual racism. When Doyle says of a recent arrest, "Never trust a (racial slur)," Russo replies that the man could just as easily have been white - prompting Doyle's more accurate, "Never trust anyone." For all that he clearly recognizes Doyle's faults, he remains unwavering in his support. Doyle finally snaps that, first through a reckless action and then - more critically - by showing that he doesn't care about what he just did. Actor Roy Scheider's shocked reaction is superbly played, as we see Russo's faith in Doyle drain away in an instant.

Sal Boca: A small-time criminal who is trying to push his way up the ladder by facilitating the deal with Charnier. He tries to present himself as unflappable, but the police presence makes him anxious, as does moneyman Joel Weinstock's caution. Both Weinstock and Charnier size him up accurately. Weinstock remarks on his inexperience and observes that he needs to move more cautiously, while Charnier quips that Sal "sees police in his soup." Tony Lo Bianco, in probably his most notable role, manages to capture both the surface slickness and the thinly veiled nervousness.

Sal (Tony Lo Bianco) welcomes Charnier (Fernando Rey). It's shown from a distance,
as if to make the audience part of the police surveillance.

THOUGHTS:

The French Connection, along with Bullitt and the original Dirty Harry, effectively invented the "cop antihero" of 1970s and '80s police thrillers. It would be harder to find a '70s or '80s cop film (or series) that didn't borrow from it. That lends it a familiarity, both in content and presentation style, that should blunt the effectiveness of modern viewings.

I still find it spellbinding.

Director William Friedkin made his name as a documentary filmmaker, and he uses those techniques here. There are several scenes that play like they came from a documentary, with camera shots that play as if a documentarian was grabbing shots on the fly and moving the camera to keep up with his subjects. Wide shots, simple pans, and zooms are favored. A scene at an automobile graveyard starts with a close shot on several abandoned cars, then zooms out. The camera pans to follow Charnier, his wife, and another associate as they walk to the auction. The auction itself is covered from just a couple of fixed angles inside a cramped space.

The movie features many scenes of police following suspects. The camera tends to start on one officer following the target, then panning or zooming to pick up a second officer as the first turns off or away to avoid detection. That second officer will be followed to a third, or a wider shot will show both officers to demonstrate their physical proximity to both each other and the target. When Charnier is observed having dinner in a restaurant, he's viewed from outside the window. We see him talking, but we do not hear the conversation.

The movie isn't afraid to take its time, and a surprising amount of it is made up of sequences of surveillance work. This creates an impression of the grind of such work, with long periods of tedium followed by bursts of panic when the target is suddenly not in anyone's view. For much of the movie, Doyle's hunch of a big deal is actively questioned by his colleagues. There's enough evidence for his captain to call in the FBI and support extended surveillance, but there's a limit to how long he'll let it consume the department's limited resources.

The pace picks up in the second half, starting with the scene in which Charnier spots and shakes Doyle at the subway station. From that point, plot developments come faster, with a greater sense of urgency. This is particularly apparent in the movie's most famous sequence...

Doyle collides with another car during the movie's famous chase scene.

THE CHASE SCENE:

The French Connection is often cited as having one of the best car chases ever put to film. It's a fine action set piece, and it honestly makes for an excellent short film in its own right.

The meat of the sequence sees Doyle pursuing a would-be assassin who is escaping on an elevated subway express. Doyle follows in a car, frantically driving beneath the train. A handheld camera inside Doyle's car catches his reactions, while other handheld shots follow the car as he drives recklessly to keep pace with his quarry.

This is intercut with the criminal inside the train car, with shots that are also handheld, though initially with less haphazardness than the Doyle shots. As the tension rises, the camera inside the train becomes less steady, matching the frenetic style of the Doyle moments, and the shot lengths shorten to match the quick cutting of Doyle's car as it pursues below.

The cinematic language retains the documentary feel. Both the shots inside Doyle's car and the shots int the train could be taken by a passenger. Most shots outside the car are presented as if filmed by a third party a safe distance away, with momentum created more by the rapid editing than by the visuals themselves. It's masterfully done, and I suspect Gerald B. Greenberg's Oscar for Film Editing had a lot to do with this scene in particular.

I have two criticisms of the chase scene, or rather its impact on the plot. First is that it doesn't actually have much narrative impact. There's an attempt to make it relevant, with Doyle's captain taking him off the case just before the chase, with the confrontation resulting in him staying on... but it's blatantly obvious that this minor and brief complication is there only to justify the set piece. If you were to remove the chase and the bit with Doyle's captain from right before it, the only sign that anything is missing would be the disappearance of one minor supporting character.

My second criticism is that, realistically, this incident should have ended Charnier's deal. Weinstock was already shown to be wary... and then a French associate of Charnier's attempts to kill a police officer before making the kind of scene on a public subway that would ignite a media firestorm. Rather than buying his drugs, I would think Weinstock and his associates would decide that this sort of violent amateurishness is dangerous and insist the Frenchman leave the city and never return.

But this is outweighed by the scene's cinematic function, which it achieves brilliantly. The set piece gives the audience a jolt, essentially waking them up for the final Act. Doyle is put in direct danger for the first time in the story, which adds to his personal stake. We see how he responds to danger: He reacts quickly, with sharp instincts as he anticipates the train's next stop; however, he's reckless and entirely willing to put civilians in danger. Notably, this is one of the few times he is not accompanied by Russo. The end of the set piece foreshadows the way Doyle will act at the end of the movie - setting it up for the viewer, while at the same time preserving the shock for Russo.

Charnier waves mockingly at Doyle. He'll come to regret that.

SPIRITUAL SUCCESSORS AND A SEQUEL:

1973's The Seven-Ups was directed by French Connection producer Philip D'Antoni, and starred French Connection cast members Roy Scheider, Tony Lo Bianco, and Bill Hickman. Scheider's Buddy Manucci is - like Buddy Russo - based on Sonny Grosso, and he's pretty definitely the same character. It's no French Connection, but it's entertaining, with a clever story and a nicely suspenseful car chase.

The same cannot be said of Badge 373, with Robert Duvall as an Eddie Egan-inspired detective (basically "Popeye" Doyle). I didn't manage to finish the movie, but what I saw was quite bad, both tedious and filled with the types of melodramatic clichés that The French Connection avoided.

There was one direct sequel, director John Frankenheimer's French Connection II. Unimaginative title aside, it's a surprisingly decent thriller that takes Gene Hackman's Popeye Doyle out of his New York City comfort zone, planting him in Marseilles. This creates a different feel than the original, and the film boasts a very effective sequence in which a character becomes addicted to heroin. Most of the rest is pretty standard, and Doyle is "safer" - and therefore less interesting - than in the original. Hackman's still good, though, and the ending chase is memorable. It's not in the same league as its predecessor, but it's worth watching, which is more than I expected.

Doyle and Russo follow a suspect.

OVERALL:

The French Connection helped to create the template for the cop thriller subgenre as we know it. Elements of it have been borrowed, expanded on, copied, and even parodied, with the car dismantling scene memorably sent up by an episode of Zucker/Abrahams/Zucker's short-lived Police Squad!

Despite its individual elements now being familiar, the movie holds up. Its documentary style, real locations, and naturalistic performances combine with a screenplay that demonstrates its characters through behavior rather than directly telling us who the characters are. It's not quite William Friedkin's best film, because I think The Exorcist is even better, but it remains a sharp, absorbing crime drama that earned its awards and also its place in film history.


Rating: 9/10.

Best Picture - 1970: Patton
Best Picture - 1972: The Godfather

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1970: Patton.

Gen. George S. Patton, Jr. (George C. Scott) salutes the audience in the iconic opening scene.

Release Date: Feb. 5, 1970. Running Time: 172 minutes. Screenplay: Francis Ford Coppola, Edmund H. North. Based on the books: Patton, Ordeal and Triumph, by Ladislas Farago; and A Soldier's Story, by Omar N. Bradley. Producer: Frank McCarthy. Director: Franklin J. Schaffner.


THE PLOT:

The disastrous Battle of Kasserine Pass leads to major American losses in northern Africa. Gen. George S. Patton Jr. (George C. Scott) is given command of the surviving II Corps, and he goes to work instilling a sense of discipline and pride in the men. He quickly clashes with the British forces over supplies, plans, and air cover, and he enters into a rivalry with Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery (Michael Bates), the British hero Patton regards as a prima donna.

After the Allies achieve victory in Africa, Patton and Montgomery submit separate plans for an invasion of Sicily. To Patton's annoyance, Montgomery's cautious unified assault is favored over his own more aggressive approach. When Montgomery gets bogged down in the southeast, Patton makes a push to capture the key cities of Palermo and Messina... something that doesn't sit well with his second-in-command, Omar Bradley (Karl Malden), who views this as sacrificing lives for the sake of one man's glory.

The fall of Sicily makes Patton into a hero... but not for long. During the campaign, he slapped a soldier with combat fatigue and shouted that the man should be shot as a coward. The incident goes public, causing a loss of support. Patton is passed over for command of the invasion of Europe, with Bradley given that plum assignment. As he's relegated to staging a distraction, he is told to consider himself on probation.

After the landing at Normandy, he is given another chance. He's made commander of the Third Army, and he begins a rapid advance across France. He becomes frustrated when his desire to advance to Berlin is thwarted (for the second time) in favor of an ill-fated rival plan by Montgomery. But when the Germans launch their counteroffensive, the Battle of the Bulge, Patton's aggressiveness suddenly becomes the very thing the Allies need!

Patton finds success on the battlefield, but he sabotages himself in the press.

GEORGE C. SCOTT AS GENERAL GEORGE S. PATTON:

"No (soldier) ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor, dumb (soldier) die for HIS country!"

42-year-old George C. Scott plays the 60-year-old general... and it works. It helps that Scott was one of those people who looked old when he was still fairly young. The only, very slight giveaway is the occasional shot in which lighting makes it obvious that his hair has been artificially whitened. These are relatively rare single shots, however; given how magnetic Scott's performance is, it's doubtful many viewers will notice.

Though it's evident that the filmmakers genuinely like their bellicose subject, they avoid making this a hagiography. Patton is presented sympathetically, and the movie clearly wants us to believe that he's in the right when he disagrees with official strategy - but the script and actor don't shy away from showing his vanity and ego. He loves being the center of attention. There's a moment when, while his army advances across France, the movie cuts to Omar Bradley approving a front-page article, proclaiming, "Give George a headline, and he's good for another thirty miles!"

George C. Scott is superb, delivering not a single false note. There is a potential danger in reducing Patton to an eternally shouty caricature. Scott makes sure to vary his deliveries, and the script makes sure to give him moments of quiet and contemplation. Patton is also played as part showman, and Scott keeps a twinkle in his eye as he barks orders, savoring that his men are never quite certain when he's serious and when he's acting. "It isn't important for them to know," he observes. "It's only important for me to know."

Scott became the first actor to refuse to accept his Oscar, condemning the entire concept of the Academy Awards as "degrading." I would argue for the Oscars' worth, not because Scott was wrong (he wasn't) and not because they always get it right (they often don't), but because the awards provide a glimpse at what is valued and even celebrated in a given year. Co-star Karl Malden expressed sympathy for Scott's reasons, but he felt that he could have been less blunt in his refusal - the two actors' statements making a perfect parallel to the roles they played in the movie.

Gen. Omar Bradley (Karl Malden) is appalled when Patton jeopardizes lives for the sake of ego.

KARL MALDEN AS GENERAL OMAR BRADLEY:

Malden's Bradley is this film's moral center (and it's probably no coincidence that the real Bradley consulted on the film). He recommends Patton for the North Africa posting, seeing him as well-suited to getting the demoralized troops back into fighting shape. He recognizes Patton's quirks and flaws, but he's still supportive of him... during the North Africa campaign.

This changes in the Sicily campaign, when Patton creatively interprets his orders - or just ignores them as "garbled" - in his rush to reach Messina ahead of Field Marshal Montgomery. Bradley doesn't directly clash with his superior, but he lets his disapproval show in his tone and in the look in his eyes. When he rebuffs Patton's offer to accompany him into Messina with a simple, "I'm not very good at that, George," his judgment is as fierce as it is quiet. When he later states that he would have relieved Patton had he been in charge in Sicily, we remember this moment and know that he means it.

That quality of quiet strength makes him a perfect foil to the bellicose title character. Bradley is low-key, plain and unshowy. Karl Malden's unassuming yet solid presence is both opposite and equal to George C. Scott's showy bravado, and I think Malden's performance is every bit as crucial to the movie's success as Scott's own.

Rommel (Karl Michael Vogler, center) is frustrated when his superiors
refuse to commit all forces to defending Normandy.

OTHER CHARACTERS:

Col. Charles Codman: Paul Stevens plays Patton's aide, who stays at his side even when the general tells him that he's "hitched (his) wagon to a falling star." Codman knows how to play to the general's ego. When he takes over as aide, Patton's ego has just been stung by learning that he did not actually face Rommel in North Africa. Codman smoothly points out that he defeated Rommel's plan, which is the same as defeating the man himself. He's unwaveringly loyal, but he isn't blind to the man's faults. There's a hint of weariness and frustration in his voice when he vainly attempts to remind him to mention the Russians in a speech, with Patton's failure to do so compounding his problems with his superiors..

Field Marshal Montgomery: While the film acknowledges Montgomery's effectiveness in pushing the Germans back in North Africa, it does so only in words. What it shown is a smug man who plays politics, trying to steer the course of the war in a way that will build his own reputation. The irony that much of this describes Patton himself isn't lost on the title character, who acknowledges to Bradley: "I'm a prima donna, I admit it. What I can't stand about Monty is, he won't admit it!" I won't call the film's portrayal character assassination; the real-life Montgomery was hardly a well-liked figure even before he proposed making South African apartheid into a model for the entire continent. Still, there's no question that the movie plays up his arrogance while downplaying his military successes.

Field Marshal Erwin Rommel: He refuses to celebrate the victory against the Americans at Kasserene Pass. He recognizes that the Americans were poorly led and knows that this is a correctable weakness. He is quick to recognize Patton's skill, but he doesn't make the mistake of mythologizing the man. During the attack on Normandy, he urges all forces be brought to bear to repel the attack. His frustration is tangible when his superior refuses, insisting that the assault is a distraction, and that the real invasion will be led by Patton. Karl Michael Vogler does a splendid job of showing Rommel's intelligence and instincts, making the most of very limited screen time.

The opening scene makes an instant and indelible impression.

OPENING SEQUENCE - A MAN AND A FLAG:

"Americans love a winner and will not tolerate a loser."

The opening is striking. There is no studio logo, no lead-in. The screen simply fades in on a giant American flag. George C. Scott's Patton strides up onto the screen and delivers a sharp salute, quick cuts focusing on the salute and his eyes, on the Ivory-handled revolver, on his riding crop, on his medals.

For the next six minutes, Patton delivers a (PG-safe) profanity-laced speech to rouse the morale of the men, who are unseen. He extolls the virtue of winning and the shame of losing. He denounces the idea of individuality, then makes a gory call to not just defeat the enemy, but to "cut out their living guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks!"

Scott is masterful, his Patton as colorful and witty as he is aggressive. At some points, he speaks in quieter tones, as if reflecting on his words while speaking them. Then his ramrod-straight posture somehow gets even straighter as he all but bellows the next line in his speech. We gain an impression of the general's combative nature and also of his showmanship... and, in Scott's hands, we also sense the intellect lurking underneath the pugnacity. 

It is six minutes with only one actor on screen, against that flag backdrop, talking (and sometimes shouting), and it is instantly and absolutely compelling. I'd label it as one of the great openings in film history.

Patton loses his temper at a shell-shocked soldier, a moment that will come back to haunt him.

OTHER MUSINGS:

"God help me, I do love it so."
-Patton reflects on war in the aftermath of a battle.

Patton is a strange sort of epic. It offers the large-scale battle scenes you expect from a big-studio war movie, but those scenes are not at the center of the story. The focus is much more on the mercurial, self-sabotaging title character. More time in spent with characters in rooms, talking and planning and arguing, than is spent in the midst of action.

The script earned Francis Ford Coppola his first Academy Award (alongside co-writer Edmund H. North), and I doubt it's a coincidence that he was able to direct The Godfather not long after. The story is carefully crafted. Most of what's portrayed is reasonably accurate by Hollywood standards, but incidents are selected and used to fashion a neat arc out of messy reality. There are quiet stretches, with the entire middle of the film moving away from the battlefield to focus on Patton's time in the wilderness, and yet the pace never flags. At nearly three hours, the film goes by remarkably quickly.

George C. Scott's performance and sheer screen presence anchors this, with Karl Malden is every bit his equal. Supporting performances are also strong, from Paul Stevens' loyal aide, who often seems more politically savvy than his superior, to Siegfried Rauch's Steiger, a German officer tasked with researching the general, who comes to identify with his subject.

Patton is well made, with several memorable visual moments, though I don't think it ever quite reaches the heights of David Lean's Lawrence of Arabia, another Oscar winning war biography centered around a brilliant but flawed central figure. There's a certain self-consciousness in some of the visuals, as if director Franklin J. Schaffner wants you to know which moments are the most "important" ones. It's not quite a problem with this film - few directors could compete with David Lean at his height - but it is something I noticed a few times while watching.

The movie gets a big lift from its music. Jerry Goldsmith's main theme is stirring and atmospheric. It doesn't simply play unaltered throughout the movie, with slight variations to match changes in mood and setting, while snatches of it also play within the general incidentals. No disrespect to Francis Lai's score for Love Story, and I suppose that film was such a huge hit that it needed to win something... but I find Patton's score to be richer, more memorable, and simply better.

The film offers several striking visuals, but some of them feel a bit self-conscious.

SEQUEL:

In 1986, CBS aired The Last Days of Patton, which saw George C. Scott returning to his most famous role. This telefilm, which aired in a 3-hour time slot (2.5 hours without commercials), covered the last part of Patton's life, from his short-lived governorship of Bavaria to his paralysis and eventual death after a car accident.

George C. Scott was much closer in age to the real Patton than he had been for the 1970 motion picture, and his performance is again excellent. The first part, which covers Patton's time in Bavaria, is interesting. The pace sags afterward, however, and the final hour becomes a slog.

Had this been limited to a 2-hour slot, with a tighter script, I think it would have been a fine companion piece to the movie. But I suspect Scott reprising Patton was too strong an incentive for the network to limit the ad space it could sell. The movie has merit, but there just isn't enough story to fill the time. I'd still label it worth watching for fans of the original film, particularly since it can regularly be found streaming free-with-ads on various services.

A defiant Patton is determined to secure victory.

OVERALL:

Patton is highly entertaining, and a sharp character study of a difficult and complex figure. Though entirely sympathetic to the title character, it doesn't skimp on portraying his many faults. This helps to bring Patton to life in a way that a hagiography wouldn't achieve.

Some of the visual moments feel oddly self-conscious to me, I think because they are directed with a precision that isn't necessarily present in other scenes. Still, it's well made and thoroughly engaging throughout, and it's bolstered by an outstanding central performance by George C. Scott.  At just shy of three hours, I can't think of a single second that left me even slightly restless - and the iconic opening is worth a point all on its own.


Rating: 8/10.

Best Picture - 1969: Midnight Cowboy
Best Picture - 1971: The French Connection

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