A long time ago...

...I was transformed by this film.

Welp.  Had to get here eventually.  I'm not entirely sure there's a "Bigger" film on the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition).  Scratch that.  There is no bigger film on the list than this one.

Might as well try and sum this up, somehow.

Film 93

93.  "Star Wars" (AFI Rank #13)

I was nine, it was a Saturday afternoon in May, and my friend, John Hallgren, who has since passed away, had invited me to go see a movie with him at Yorktown.  Something called "Star Wars."  It sounded fun enough, and I hadn't heard of it, so what the hell?  Yes, you guessed it.  That was the opening Saturday of a cultural event unequaled in film history.  I sat, slack-jawed, in my seat and watched a thrilling spectacle unfold before me, full of everything a nine year old boy needs.  Shootouts, swordfights, alienation, bad guys, spaceships, good guys, and monsters, oh so many monsters.  I remember going home and drawing from memory the TIE Fighters, and the X-Wing fighters, and Darth Vader, and well...you name it.  I had been taken in, and I was all in on this one.  It's been nearly 40 years since that day, and I can say, in no uncertain terms, that "Star Wars" remains a part of the fabric of my life to this very day.

Last year, when I attempted this little quest, I wrote my review of "Star Wars" this way:  "It's fucking 'Star Wars.'"   And that's all I wrote.  I kinda want(ed) to do that this time, but I think I owe myself, and this blog, better than that.  I'm going to attempt to write this as a review of a film that I just watched, and it's going to be impossible.  I'll be getting sentimental a bunch.  I'm also going to be long-winded.  I guarantee that.  So, settle back.

I own the DVD version of the film.  What that means is that I own the original theatrical releases of the films.  In non-digitally remastered, non-audio corrected, non-widescreen glory.  So, I watched the newest version of the film.  The one where Greedo shoots first, and Jabba gets his tail stepped on by Han Solo.  I'm not here to discuss the changes that George Lucas, the creator of this universe made to his already fairly perfect film.  I'm going to be discussing my viewing of this film, this time.

The other weird part about this film, and something that I'm going to be dealing with a little bit in a future review, is that this film is not the end of the story that we all now know.  There have been 6 live action sequels or prequels to this film, and one animated film.  The story of Luke Skywalker, and most importantly (according to what happened in the balance of the films), the story of his father, are familiar to most Americans, and certainly to the vast majority of the Americans in my generation.  I'm betting you've watched this film, and I'm betting you've watched more than one of these films in the series.  Anyway, I'm going to speak about this film, and my reactions watching it this time.

Know what my reactions are?  This film is still awesome.  It's still filled with spaceships, and battles, and swordfights, and all kinds of monsters.  And they still fascinate me.  It's also filled with sometimes cheesy dialogue.  But mostly what it's filled with is amazing story telling wrapped up in even more amazing visual and auditory filmmaking.  It is important to mention sound for this film.  Beyond the amazing score, the sound of a lightsaber, the laser blasts from an assortment of guns, the sound of Luke's landspeeder, hell, even the Jawas all are part of the rich tapestry that this film weaves.

As I said, I'm going to assume you've seen this film.  Let's start with the most glaringly obvious thing this film does phenomenally.  I, of course, am referring to the visual effects, which start right at the opening credits, and the ensuing space battle between a Rebellion blockade runner and an Imperial Star Destroyer.   Shot with practical effects before the advent of CGI, the miniature work on this film is nothing short of amazing.  Spaceships look like they are really flying.  Planets look like they really exist.  Yes, the new DVD version includes a bunch of CGI work, and for those of us geeky enough to know the original, it's fairly easy to pick out those shots.  So, yeah, I saw a bunch of that stuff.  But, the practical effects, which are still the bulk majority of the effects, are still stunning.  I mentioned this I think when talking about a previous film.  I can't remember which one it was, wait.  It was "Citizen Kane."  I talked about how today scenes would be rendered, and that there is something missing in these modern shots (permission to completely contradict this while talking about "Fellowship of the Ring") that we can only get with practical shots, on location.  Picture a CGI "Lawrence of Arabia," or "...Kane," or..."Star Wars."  Wait.  You can picture that.  It's readily available in Episodes I-III, and the latest, Episode VII.  I am trying to limit my discussion to this film, but tell me that the Death Star set, with real humans walking on it, doesn't feel far more visceral than the Nazi/First Order scene from Episode VII.  The latter was done with a computer, the former with real people in real costumes.  There's a depth that CGI still cannot capture, and no matter how beautiful it gets, I still want to see a real guy in the suits.  I guess that makes me old fashioned.  So be it.

An overlooked, but to me, anyway, important part of the visual presentation of this film is the fades between scenes.  Especially on Tatooine, at the beginning of the film, but often when major shifts in mood/location occur, we get a wipe style transition between scenes.  This, to me, feels like homage to the serial films of the earlier part of the 20th Century, and to their ability to quickly establish stories that we'd care about in a very brief amount of time.  Even though a serial may tell a story over a series of films, it had to grab attention, and each chapter of the serial had to make sense, and somewhat "close."  Watching "Star Wars" this time I was flabbergasted by the pauses and...well...closure to a lot of scenes.  It felt like reading a chapter book, and I gotta say, kudos to George Lucas on that.  The story makes sense, and before we move on, we wrap business where we are.  Hell, even the scene with Greedo in the cantina, while somewhat superfluous, tells us a great deal about Han Solo.  Yeah, Han is in debt to a bad guy, that we learn.  But, the idea of him shooting Greedo before the bounty hunter gets a chance to fire, is HUGE for character exposition.  No, that doesn't happen in the current iteration of the film.  That doesn't mean Lucas didn't completely screw the pooch by changing it.  We need that fact about Han for the balance of this film.  Make him lovable in sequels.  Wait.  I'm getting ahead of myself.

Joseph Campbell and others have commented on the standard myths involved with this film.  And, friends, this is where I'm going to ask something of you.  I have spent a great deal of time watching and writing about these films, and the one thing that I'm taking out of all of it is that there can always be more there than what you think you see.  Look for archetypes.  Look for commonality with legends.  Look for possible metaphor.  Look for themes.  This film is stuffed with them.  We've got Luke and abandonment, we've got Han and crime, we've got Princess Leia and rebellion, we've got Vader, Grand Moff Tarkin, and the entire empire and authoritarianism, we've got the mystical/religious with Obi-Wan Kenobi, and we've got a couple of droids and a giant Wookie for comedy/camaraderie.  These are hardly new ideas/themes, yet here they are...IN SPACE!  So, next time you're watching a film that actually has some depth to it, look for the deeper stuff.  "The Avengers?"  Simple mythology about Gods and Goddesses.  Even in the supposed "pap," there can be found deeper, more universal themes.  Seek them out.  "Star Wars" has them.  They're fairly dripping from the screen.

George Lucas has been talked about a bit.  Let me just say this.  I think George Lucas is conceivably one of the greatest inventors that cinema has ever known.  I'm not sure he's that great a director, nor a great writer, as he's directed exactly 6 films in his lifetime, 3 of which are the not-up-to-snuff prequels to this film; and his dialogue often sucks.  Hard.  However, the film techniques that he and his team used on this film, along with the sound advances, along with, hell, a whole UNIVERSE that he basically invented out of whole cloth, is breathtaking.  Think about it.  Skywalker Sound is practically the only go-to sound laboratory, Industrial Light and Magic basically has invented or actually produced most visual effects for the last 40 years.  Beyond that, if I mention Obi-Wan Kenobi, or C3PO, or R2D2, or Luke, or any other character in this film or its follow-ups, you know exactly what I'm describing.  So, we've got an entire wing of modern cinema production teamed up with household names for characters.  I really, really find it hard to say that there is a bigger film in the entire history of films.  There's no PIXAR without Lucas.  There's no CGI without the monies available from the sheer runaway cash cow this film was.  There's no Marvel films, no sequels to other films, no Tolkein films, none of it - without this film.  "Jaws 2" came out in 1978.  Know what was already being crushed upon 20th Century Fox by then?  "The Empire Strikes Back."  Then we got Rocky sequels, etc.  Why?  Because studios, even though "Planet of the Apes" had been a moderate success in series format, were now able to see that sometimes people just wanted more of what they'd already seen.  "Star Wars," with the exception of Darth Vader flying away at the end, left no strings untied, yet there was so much more to come...I'm rambling.

Beyond all that gushing, there's more gushing.  I love that Lucas chose to make space dirty, as in actually dirty.  Suits are filthy, helmets are scratched up, droids are filthy, the Millennium Falcon looks gross.  Everything looks used, and space films, up until then, had always looked absolutely pristine.  Check out the capsule of the ship in "Planet of the Apes."  We're supposed to believe that these 4 people had occupied this space for years, yet there's not a speck of dust in it.  Lucas led the way towards grittier, more realistic conditions in completely unrealistic environments.  Again, inspired.

Last couple things.  Music.  This score is one of the iconic inventions of Hollywood.  One moment in particular I want to mention, and that's the french horn (I think) solo as Luke looks over the setting suns of Tatooine.  It's a part of the opening photo I used.  I'm not sure that many other films that I've seen (there are some) have made better use of music to convey story like this one does.  The opening horns blasting at us during the opening crawl, the Empire's theme song, hell, even the cantina band all makes us feel something, and as I've said on many occasions, that's something only film can accomplish.

Acting is just OK.  Hamill is whiny, Fisher is dull, Ford is OK, but his voice gets swallowed up, Peter Cushing is good as Tarkin, but he's mostly just menacing.  Alec Guinness does what he can, but he was right about one thing, his dialogue is nonsense.  You're not watching this film for the truthful acting.  If you are, you're going to hate this film.

I'm not sure I discussed my view of watching this this time.

So.

Look.

It's fucking "Star Wars."

I can't say more.

Wait.  One other thing.  Here's a fun thing to try.  Watch the films in order from I-VI.  That tells Darth Vader's story.  NOW.  Watch them like I did, as a kid.  IV-VI, then I-III.  That makes the films Luke's story.  Try it sometime.  You'll see the difference, I think.

Ebert wrote a column on this film. It's dated Jan. 1, 1977, but that's not correct.  It's written after the film broke box-office records.  It's here, and he touches on some of the things I did.  Because of course he/I did.

"Deserve's...

...got nothing to do with it."

A film that deserves your attention on this step towards finishing up watching the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) in a relatively short amount of time.

This one is pretty brutal.  And I love this film.  Know what?  I don't need to say that anymore.  The last 10 are all films that I love.  So, from now on, assume that I love the balance of what I'm writing about, and that I'm likely going to be discussing things from a perspective of a guy who's seen the film a BUNCH of times.

Bah.  On with it.

Film 92

92.  "Unforgiven" (AFI Rank #68)

Know what's funny?  I don't like Westerns.  Except that I got to watch 6 of them on this journey, and I love all of them but one.  This one, however, was one of two I'd actually seen before this started.  When I was putting together my far too complex matrix of the order in which I was going to watch these films, I decided that I was going to put this one in the last 10.  Not because it's one of my 10 favorite films, or anything like that, but because I think this film is great because it's really the opposite of its genre.  It has depth.  It shows regret.  What's crazy is that an argument could be made that ALL the Westerns on this list have that as a theme.  This one, I knew, though, and it moved me from the first time I watched it 20+ years ago.  And I saved it for this group because of that emotional tie.

Like John Wayne before him, Clint Eastwood is an iconic actor in this genre.  Like John Wayne before him, Clint Eastwood also doesn't really seem too far away from the guys he portrays in his film work.  Decidedly rugged, decidedly neanderthal-ish in terms of politics/personal life, and decidedly unapologetic about it, Eastwood has "Cowboy Hero" written all over him...on screen and off.  Did you know that he made his "wife," Frances Fisher, hide her pregnancy during the Oscar stretch with this film so that it would not distract from HIS Oscar race?  Did you know that Clint was quoted as saying he'd never win an Oscar because he's "not Jewish?"  Yeah, some of that may be tongue in cheek, but that has the appearance of a trend.  I'm not even talking about his speech to an empty chair at the Republican National Convention.

What's great, though, is that I can watch him in this film, and forget every bit of that.  What's greater is that he was also behind the camera on this film, and his experience with this genre, along with a terrific script, makes for one hellaciously good film.  Opening with rolling titles that say,

"She was a comely young woman and not without prospects.  Therefore it was heartbreaking to her mother that she would enter into marriage with William Munny, a known thief and murderer, a man of notoriously vicious and intemperate disposition.  

When she died, it was not at his hands as her mother might have expected, but of smallpox.

That was 1878."

Set behind that is the sun setting on a man, obviously digging a grave underneath the only tree in sight.  It's a stirring shot, and the language of the text is so well thought out, so descriptive...we know something special might be in store.  And something special is.

I must admit something.  It's been a while since I wrote one of these reviews.  That's because I wrote about 4 long-ass paragraphs detailing the plot of this film, and realized I was not here to tell you what the film I watched was, in a frame-by-frame way.  I had struggled with how to get this back on track, and then, I struggled with cutting those 4 paragraphs.  Well.  I cut them.  I'm going to go on under the assumption that you've seen this film, or that you don't need the whole damned thing spelled out for you.


Taking an old familiar storyline and making it special is a tough thing to do.  In this case, it's the "one last job, and then I'm done" story.  William Munny (Eastwood), the aforementioned man of notoriously vicious and intemperate disposition, has given up his life of murder, crime, and general nastiness, and has settled into a farm in Kansas.  He is raising two children on his own, as his wife, the woman responsible for helping him reform has died.  One day, while having a particularly rough time with some pigs, a stranger named the "Schofield Kid (Jaimz Woolvett)" rides up and requests that the famous William Munny come help him kill a couple of cowboys that have cut up a prostitute in the town of Big Whiskey, Wyoming.  As the job pays $1000, and William is most assuredly down on his luck, he decides to take the task on, and with the help of his old friend Ned (Morgan Freeman), the three killers head to Big Whiskey, and do indeed, *SPOILER ALERT FOR A 24 YEAR OLD MOVIE* earn their $1000.

That's the nuts and bolts of the story.  The film, however, is full of so much more.  Populated with rich, developed, nuanced characters, the film is the kind of "anti-hero" movie that I find so damned fascinating.  The local lawman, Little Bill Daggett, played with ferocity by Gene Hackman, is decidedly harsh, and one might even say...criminal.  Meanwhile, the most earnest people in the town are...the prostitutes.  They share a sorority feel, and their actions/decisions are unilaterally just, and based on the notion of fair play.  Led by Frances Fisher as Strawberry Alice, these characters could have been easily dismissed, but Eastwood, and the script, spend so much time making their plight matter that we wind up really finding our commonality with them, and most of us could never imagine ourselves as...well...them.  Rounding out the compelling characters are another assassin named English Bob (Richard Harris), and his biographer W.W. Beauchamp (Saul Rubinek).

I mentioned that I saved this film for the final 10.  Let me see if I can sum up why.

Acting.  Hackman won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor, and he's magnificent.  Morgan Freeman is my favorite actor when he's given a meaty character, so I love this.  Fisher is vulnerable and tough.  Harris has real depth in a character that could easily be dismissed.  And Woolvett's final moments in the film are simply brilliant.  However, with all that, Saul Rubinek all but steals the film for me.  Brilliantly written, his Beauchamp is played with so much wonderful opportunism, and surprisingly little depth of humanity.  Watch his face when Little Bill gives him the opportunity to shoot him in the chest.  Listen to his voice when, after the final brutal shootdown (not out), he explains to William Munny why he chose to shoot Little Bill first.  He's absolutely convinced that he knows what is going through Munny's mind.  And that, folks, is what makes the character of William Munny so transcendent.  There are very few glimpses into his mind.  Beauchamp is there to make sure we know it, and in the hands of a less-skilled performer, we might miss that.

I haven't discussed Eastwood's acting in this.   I'm going to point to one moment.  As the Kid, Ned, and Will find the first of the cowboys they are in town to kill, we see the Kid unable to take a shot because he can't see.  We see Ned refuse to take the shot, as his life as a killer has ended, and then we see Munny pick up the rifle, one he doesn't feel comfortable using, and just start shooting at the man.  After a few shots, he announces, "I got him."  Now, all of that is chilling.  But, it's the next move that makes the acting so splendid.  As Davey, the cowboy, is howling about how he's dying, and begging for someone to bring him some water, we see Will start picking at the rock in front of him, in the kind of non-verbal shit that just rocks my world.  Rather than emote through facial movements, we see an almost involuntary motion give away Will's feelings.  That, my friends, that is what great acting is.  And there.  I've said it.  Clint Eastwood, noted movie star, whose roles tend to range from justified killer to...justified killer, turns in a whopper of a performance in this film.

I mentioned the writing a couple of times.  David Webb Peoples was given an Oscar nomination for this film.  He did not win, losing to Neil Jordan's "The Crying Game."  I'm going to say that most any other year, this film's screenplay wins that award, hands down.  I've mentioned the characters, but the story is so rich, and the final shootdown is so brilliantly executed, so taut with drama...yes, Eastwood's Oscar-winning direction was on display here, as was the Oscar-winning editing, but all that happens from something written on a page.  I haven't mentioned writing too much in these reviews.  This script, this film, shows how much of a film inspired writing can carry.  Everything in this film is made better because of that screenplay.  I started this post with a quote from the film.  I'll repeat it.  In the final moments of the film, as Munny has slaughtered a barroom full of men for killing his friend Ned, the first guy he shot, Little Bill, recovers, and in his death throes, tells Will that he doesn't deserve to die like this.  Will's answer? "Deserve's got nothing to do with it," and he raises his gun back up to finish off Little Bill.  It's as cold a moment as you'll find, and...well.  I love it.  Just love it.  Mostly because Little Bill...deserves it.

This is a beautiful film, a tribute to all the vistas, manly intentions, and justice from so many Westerns of yore.  Yet, it has the decided lack of moral compass that makes it riveting.  The bad guy is our hero, and the good guy is horrible.  We find ourselves in a stew, having watched a man commit mass murder, yet still wanting him to get away.  AND...the final shot, of Will riding away from a being-heavily-rained-upon Big Whiskey, with an American flag illuminated in the background.  Folks, that's great filmmaking.

I've got 3 more that I've watched to write up at this point, and I apologize for the delay.  I just couldn't focus this one.  I think I did.  In any case, I urge you to watch this film. It was in my final 10 because it's one of my favorites.  It was in my final 10 because I think it's brilliant, from start to finish.  It was in my final 10 because watching 100 movies in a short period of time and writing about them is hard, and I wanted the final stretch to be populated with films that I knew excited me.  It's in my final 10 because...because it's amazing.  Did I mention that?

Ebert wrote about this one in his "Great Movies" series.  Wow.  I just read it.  Ebert can turn a phrase, and he writes much more eloquently what I tried to express above.  I'm still gonna pat myself on the back a bit that I seem to be seeing these films the way that critics, especially one of the great ones, do.  His thoughts are here.  

Down the stretch...

...we come.  Almost home.

We're on the first of the last 10 films I'm watching and writing about from the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition).

And I put this one in the last 10 because I love watching it, and I wanted it to be part of the last push.

Film 91

91.  "Citizen Kane" (AFI Rank #1)

If it hasn't been obvious during the course of these essays, I have no formal education in regards to film.  For that matter, I have none for theatre.  I take inspiration, mix it with experience, and rip the fuck off anywhere I can when I do theatre.  If I'm occasionally capable of directing a really good play, or giving a really good performance, it is because of my particular skill set with emotional/intellectual recall.  I also have a pretty good eye, am decidedly myopic in regards to what I want, and I try not to treat people like shit.  All that has served me reasonably well.  And were this essay about me, I could go on and on.  I'm getting off topic.

My point was that there are dozens and dozens of essays, books, opinions, whatever, written about this film by people FAR more educated and often smarter than me.  The AFI ranked it the best that the United States had to offer, and this film is often cited as the greatest ever created, no matter the country.  It's not my favorite film, but it's the best one I've ever seen.  It's high on the list of my favorites, too.  What this one does to me, mostly, is make me appreciate its art.  I find myself gasping out loud, and this past viewing was no exception.  And this, my friends, is as high as this art gets.

Directed by a barely 26 year old Orson Welles, who had capitalized on his fame with the Mercury Theatre to negotiate a full-control contract with RKO Pictures.  Welles got to make the film he wanted to make, and he had full artistic license to do so.  The film wound up as a failure for RKO, losing the film company about $150K, but the contributions of this film to the art of film was invaluable.  Telling the tale of William Randolph Hearst as a slightly fictionalized Charles Foster Kane, this film was beset by a barrage of negative advertising in all of Hearst's papers, along with RKO pulling its support, and limiting its release.  None of that matters. What matters is what happens when the film starts playing.  And what happens then is nothing short of astonishing.

Julie and I watched this together, and she asked me what it was that caused me to gasp and say "wow," etc. as I watched.  Well.  That's a tough question.  Let me attempt to answer it.  I'm blown away right from the start, as Welles slowly pans around the neglected estate of Xanadu, while always, somehow, no matter the angle, keeping one lit window in the same spot in the frame.  It is that attention that just thrills me.  That he chose to end the film with almost an identical shot, only this time, the light is out, and the estate billows smoke as Kane's personal effects are incinerated, is...well.  Come on.  Does it get better than that?

I'll be here all day if I start talking about all the great shots that are present in this film visually.  Let's just say this...I don't think I can recall a film that takes such care with each shot, and everything, and I mean EVERYTHING feels intentional.  There's a scene where the characters of Leland and Bernstein are speaking with each other, as Kane does a dance at a celebration for Kane's triumph over the rival newspaper in town.  Check that scene out.  Every frame includes Kane, reflected in the window, between Leland and Bernstein, a constant presence in the moment.  And despite f-stops and all kinds of other crap...there's Kane in that scene...in perfect focus.  Check out the camera work in this film.  Often characters are FAR away from the subject of the frame, and yet, when Welles wants them to be, they are in perfect focus.  That's pretty heady stuff from a 25 year old kid, whose entire experience was in live theatre and radio.  Camera angles are played with throughout, lighting and shadows are used to amazingly dramatic effect, mirrors are used, montages are used to show the passage of time.  The breakfast scene, and the dissolution of a marriage told at the breakfast table through a passing series of vignettes is genius.  Everything in Kane's life is a grotesque, often way off the charts in terms of scale.  Check out the fireplaces.  Look at the arches in the house.  Everything is HUGE.  These items are meant to tell a story.  

I'm going to comment on just one more thing that you may not have noticed, but I did, and then I'm stopping discussion of the visual, because, again, I'll be here all damned day.  Just before the final shot of the film, as the treasures that Kane has hoarded are panned across, something you may not have caught is that every object that plays a key moment in a scene earlier in the film is shown.  There's Kane's trophy that was presented to him by the staff of the paper, then the headboard from the bed that Kane moved into the newspaper office.  It's meant to show us that nothing the man touched was too small to keep, and NONE of it gave him any pleasure, except as a sort of museum to his own life.  And of course, the sled gets thrown in the fire, which leads to the final shot I described above.  The film, ultimately, asks the question...to what end?   What does it all mean?  Know what the title was supposed to be?  "John Q," or "American."  Little tougher film to stomach when its viewed as a morality play about ALL of us, rather than a scathing lampooning of one specific individual.  And that's what this film is, ultimately.  What drives us?  What gives us pleasure?  What can we live without?  What can't we?  What do our things say about us, and is Kane's perverse manner of holding onto things really just a metaphor for memory?

Dammit.  I can't.  I have to talk more about the visual, and its effect on the story.  Look, it's 2016.  This film is 75 years old.  We have technology that can create worlds that don't exist, and show us things in our world that are too hard to capture visually.  Want a guy to get run over by a car?  CGI!  Yet here is the greatest film ever made, and almost all of it is shot in the camera using either practical effects or miniatures.  The visually stunning political rally?  It's a photograph with holes pricked in it, behind which light was passed, which gives the illusion of movement.   Kane's shoes are shown in several shots, because the fucking camera was dug into the floor.  Why?  Because a shot of the top of his shoes wouldn't feel the same.  Anyway, we have nearly unlimited technology available to us now, and still, we can't achieve this.  Film can't make us feel the way this one does by visual power any longer.  The focus is grandeur, and the details present in those.  Welles was reduced to finding the details in the mundane, because that's what was available.  Amazing.

Acting in this film is tremendous, top to bottom.  Actors often talk on top of each other, while maintaining their focus.  Know what that sounds like?  Real life.  Try having a conversation with someone.  Watch how you don't wait until they're done talking.  Watch how often you interrupt, or they do, or how you express similar ideas at the same time.  Welles grabbed that idea and throttled it in this film.  Especially Kane.  Maybe that was yet another choice, meant to show how little Kane listened, or how much he wanted to be heard.  And again...is that Kane, or is that all of us?  Anyway, this film is played almost entirely by complete rookies from the Mercury Theatre, including Agnes Moorehead, Joseph Cotten, Dorothy Comingore, and Everett Sloane.  The ensemble work is tremendous, and characters are interesting, deep, and focused.  Like the visual.  Ha!

If one could quibble with something on this film...it's the plot.  I've been pondering this a lot.  It doesn't seem as the plot really goes anywhere.  And the more I think about it, the more I think that, too, is yet another cheeky turn by Welles and co-script writer Herman J. Mankiewicz.  The story being so dissatisfying, if you will, is because the message it is conveying is one of dissatisfaction.  Work with me on this.  It works.

Bernard Herrmann wrote the score, and this, like everyone else involved, was his first film.  That his score is largely unremarkable is no reflection of its greatness.  It is just overshadowed, often literally, by what happens to us visually.   Herrmann is one of Hollywood's treasures, as his career not only included this film, but the score for "Taxi Driver" and "Psycho" as well.  Tell me if you remember the music from either of those.  I'm guessing you do.  If John Williams didn't exist, we'd be talking about Herrmann as the greatest of Hollywood's composers.

You know, I tend to get into directors a lot in these.  I am an idiot.  Gregg Toland is the cinematographer, and he deserves just as much praise as I gave Welles above.  I forget all the time that there is a person responsible for the composition of the photographs we see, and that guy was Toland.  I've short-changed him.  The guy probably did most of the work.  So, I mentioned him.  And now we know he did it.

I'd love to drone on about this film.  I can't, because as soon as I start, I'll never stop.  Here's what I want you to do.  I want you to watch it.  I want you to watch it like an artist.  Don't go into this movie expecting it's going to affect you like "Pretty Woman" does.  It's not even going to get you like "Star Wars" does.  It's going to get you like looking at the Sistine Chapel does.  It's going to get you to think..."Really?  You thought of THAT, too?  DAMN!"  Every brush stroke in this masterpiece only makes sense when all the brush strokes are viewed, yet one could get lost just looking at the brush strokes.
 
Yes.  This film is that great.

Everything you've heard about it is true.  It requires you to think.  It requires you to pay attention.  It requires you to listen.  It's high art, folks, and high art is often lost on the masses.  I'm trusting you, gentle reader, not to be among the masses.

And let me just say this.  I'm not educated about film.  And as I've said countless times, I don't read Ebert's essays until I'm done.  Well.  This uneducated simpleton nailed it.  At least I nailed it as far as Ebert's concerned.  His essay is here.

Never, ever, ever...

...would have watched this film.  And I'd be poorer for it.

Decidedly bloody-kill-deathy in this chapter of writing about watching the entire AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) in a brief time period.  I never would have imagined I'd love a film like this.  And I did.  I loved this film.

Film 90

90.  "The Wild Bunch" (AFI Rank #79)

I've been staring at the screen wondering how to start this piece.  Do I start by saying that it's the last film in the list that I'd never seen before?  Do I start by saying that before watching this film, my entire knowledge of Sam Peckinpah comes from Monty Python?  Do I start by reiterating that I generally dislike Westerns?  Do I start by talking about William Holden appearing in yet another film in the Top 100?  Do I start by talking about my preference for "male-themed" films?  Wait.  I think I just did all of those.  So clever...I like to think I am.

I watched "The Wild Bunch" the other night, and frankly...I was blown away by how damned good it was.  And that term is applicable.  Blown away.

Saddled (HA!) with a premise that seems so tired:  "one more job, and then I'm done," this film came at me with one hand tied behind its back.  It was at a disadvantage, and I sat in contempt as the film opened.  Then something amazing happened.  This prejudicial take that I'd had on it was shattered within the first five minutes.  What I was watching was a western, complete with all of its clichés, but the film was so much more.  Sam Peckinpah, as I said above, was familiar to me only from the very funny, very graphically bloody "Sam Peckinpah's 'Salad Days'" sketch on "Monty Python's Flying Circus."   You know what?  That sketch is not necessarily that far from the truth, at least as I saw it in this film.  And, Python makes a good caricature of Peckinpah, at least what I saw.  However, there is so much more there, so much depth to be plumbed.

Telling the tale of a group of outlaws who start the film in an ambush, this film sets its tone IMMEDIATELY.   A bloody (and  yes, BLOODY) shootout begins almost from the start between our protagonists and a group of guns hired by the railroad to kill these men who have taken so much.  The leader of the hunters is a former member of the gang, Deke Thornton, the partner of William Holden's Pike Bishop.  He is played with great depth by Robert Ryan, who, while charged with killing his former friends, clearly hates the idea, and is doing so only to avoid jail time.  As the gang is getting ready to leave the site of a train holdup, they are besieged by Thornton's band of criminal bounty hunters, who are firing upon them from various places on various roofs.  Several members of both gangs are killed.  Now, that's fairly standard stuff.  What isn't standard, however, is that the whole gunfight happens in broad daylight, in a NON-deserted  town square, right as a Temperance Union parade is marching down Main Street.  Civilians are killed, both male and female, and children are placed in harm's way.  We are clearly looking at a film where morals are not based on "good and evil," like most Westerns, but a film in which the good guys are clearly as warped as the bad guys.  And that, friends, is interesting as hell to this here viewer.

Eventually, the protagonists get away, and regroup at the compound of a straight-out-of-central-casting old man, complete with cackle and bad teeth.  The members of the gang are Dutch Engstrom (Ernest Borgnine), brothers Lyle and Tector Gorch (Warren Oates and Ben Johnson, respectively), and Angel (Jamie Sanchez).  As they deal with regathering themselves, they go to split up the loot, only to discover that the coins in the bags are just washers.  Old man Sykes (Edmond O'Brien) cackles away, and eventually the men do, also.  This film has a lot of that, by the way.  It has a lot of men laughing wildly.  In fact, I might consider that a bad thing, as the laughter often serves as the button on a scene, and it often feels put upon.  Whatever.  The men decide that they are going to do one last job, and rob a train right along the Mexican/American border.  Eventually, we wind up in Angel's home town, where his girlfriend has been stolen by a drunken buffoon of a general named Mapache (Emilio Fernandez).  Meeting with Mapache, the men decide to take the train, which has a load of guns that the general wants.  For this, they will be paid $10,000.  Angel sees his girlfriend, now a concubine in Mapache's harem, and kills her dead.  Mapache, in spite of the insult, lets him go, but the men have crossed a very powerful man.

Long story short, they rob the train, Angel decides to keep some of the guns himself, he's branded a thief, and Engstrom leaves him in Mapache's clutches.  The rest of the men take their money.  After an attempt to talk with the general, they leave Angel again, as he is being tortured by Mapache.  Finally, at long last, they give each other the "looks like it's a good day to die" look, and they decide to take Angel back by force.  Four against an army.  The final shootout is amazing, and the ending is great.  I'm not giving away more.

Look, to call this film bold would be an understatement.  Its use of squibs to show bullet damage was not new.  Its excessive blood might have been.  Its use of nudity wasn't new, but the way it's used, it is right in your face.  And that's the crux of this film.   It's just always in your face.  It's making you part of whatever happens, good, bad, or otherwise.  The torture scene makes you feel pain.  The gunshots show what happens to mere flesh when hot metal comes in contact with it.  Horses are...well.  If you're an animal lover, you probably want to avoid this film.  I'm not sure any horses were injured, but I'll say this.  A stuntman may know that a bridge is about to collapse under him in an explosion.  A horse doesn't.  In today's CGI, horses can be abused and it's all pixels.  Not so with this film.  Nope, stunts are practical, and horses are a big part of what happens.

Early in the film, there is a scene of a scorpion being placed in an ant hill.  Again, it may not mean a whole lot symbolically, but the image can't be shaken.  Whatever it was that Peckinpah is saying, I'm not 100% sure.  What I am 100% sure about, however, is that he meant to say it.  He may not have always had a plan, as my research suggests, but once he made a decision on how to take a scene, he committed to that decision.

I'm also going to say that the final march of the men into Mapache's compound should be among the 100 film scenes you watch before you die.  It's stirring, gritty stuff.  And from all research I've done, was made up kinda right on the spot.  Camera angles, music, acting, lighting, plot, everything is so well executed in this brief scene.  Really, it should be talked about as one of film's great iconic shots.

Ultimately, this film just makes us ask questions of ourselves.  We find ourselves rooting for truly despicable men, because they are against slightly more despicable men, whether on the side of law, or military, or whatever.  Filmed in 1969, this is a decidedly anti-establishment story/film.  I've little doubt that there is deeper allegory in the entire thing.  No one is worthy of our admiration, no matter what they are doing at the moment, yet we are drawn to them, because we see us in all of them.  At least I do.  I am, as you know, a firm believer in the idea of choice in my villains.  What must it take to make the choice to be a criminal?  What must it take to hunt them?  When do the lines get blurred?  I'm not sure.  Peckinpah wants to be sure that you ask yourself that, though.

Cinematography is breathtaking, at times, as most Westerns are.  Flash "subliminal" images can be found throughout.  Blood is bloody.  Gunshots matter.  Bad guys die.  Good guys die.  Man, this is a tremendous film.  "Bonnie and Clyde" started the trend towards violence having visceral consequences.  This film takes that idea/technique, and perverts it, setting precedents for far more bloody, more visceral experiences.  Put it this way.  "Saving Private Ryan" doesn't have the same Omaha Beach scene without this film.  It's that important.  Oh, and Quentin Tarantino doesn't exist, AT ALL, without Sam Peckinpah.  Period.

Acting is about as good as can be expected.  Holden is fearless, and offers us a complex protagonist.  Early on in the film, we know we're supposed to like this guy.  Yet, when one of his men is wounded in the opening gun battle, it is Bishop who dispatches the man with a bullet to the head.  Lines are drawn, then erased.  Holden shows these depths in all he does.  Borgnine also shows a staggering range, even if he often feels like a good guy, just having a great time.  Check out his face during the train robbery.  It's beautiful, and it's full of depth.  Borgnine may be the sergeant, the rough number 2 who keeps men in line, but there's one moment in that train robbery where we see real mirth in what he does.  It's awesome.  Ben Johnson and Warren Oates are capable enough throughout, but it is their steely resolve for the final scene that really cements the scene.  Tremendous.  Even Edmond O'Brien is great, if caricature.

The other side of the story, of course, is the man hunting the criminals down, and Robert Ryan is brilliant in his portrayal.  Full of melancholy, regret, and resolve, Thornton is chased by demons, which compel him to chase them himself.  In lesser hands, we'd likely dislike Thornton a lot.  He is a turncoat.  However, because of nuance expressed by Ryan, and the relatively delicate treatment of the bombastic film, we get a fully fleshed out character who is intriguing as hell.  Apparently, however, Ryan was a pain in the ass during the film, and if you watch the opening credit sequence, you'll notice that he is billed alongside a photograph of a horse's ass.  I mentioned that this film was in your face, right?  Unfortunate, of course, is the portrayal of the Mexicans, but even films like this need some caricatures.  Mapache is a slimeball, though, and Fernandez does a tremendous job of showing us that.

All right folks, I've now watched them all.  This one right here, I was dubious about in advance.  No longer.  This is a VERY important film, one that I was dead wrong about in advance.  I'm glad that this project makes me watch these films, though.  I've gotten to see a bunch of great ones that I would have otherwise avoided.  I'm telling you to watch this film.  It's that good, and it's that important.
One other thing.  If you're a woman, this film may cause you to grow a penis.  Not that I'd call that a desirable condition, but this film will suck all femininity out of anyone, because there's nary a whiff of it in the film.

Roger Ebert goes so far as to call the film a masterpiece.  I'm inclined to agree with him, and he and I explore similar themes in our critiques.  Ebert had obviously watched it more than once, but I love his essay.  Roger included the film in his series on "Great Movies."  It's here.  I agree.  It's a great movie.

So.  That's it.  I've watched them all.  Up last are the 10 I saved for last, including 2 of the top 3 of all time (according to the list), and a bunch that are just films you watch time and again.  Can't wait.

Almost.  Almost.  Thanks for reading.  It means a hell of a lot.

Hey, look! I read...

...this book!  Of course, that was 32 years ago, and I read the entire thing in a day, because the test was the next day.  As such, I don't remember much about it, except that lots of bad stuff happened to a bunch of people who'd already had a bunch of bad stuff happen to them, and there was something about a turtle.

The turtle didn't make it into this chapter of my quest to watch the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition).

Film 89

89.  "The Grapes Of Wrath" (AFI Rank #23)

I have been more than a little flabbergasted as I've gone through this list and encountered great literature put on film, that the average amount of time between the publication of the novel and the release of the film is usually VERY short.  It seems odd to me that one could make an enduring, great film out of a story that is so fresh.  Several major U.S. novels are included on the list, and at least two of them are considered "all time, required reading" kind of literature.  This is one of them.  As I alluded to above, I was required to read this my sophomore year in high school.  I did, in fact, read all of John Steinbeck's long-ass novel in a day.  I did it by skipping the "intercalary" chapters (all the stuff about the turtle), then coming back and reading those when I had finished with the story of the Joads.  Yes, that was not what Steinbeck intended.  Yes, I got a perfect score on the test the next day, so whatever Steinbeck intended was secondary to that for me.  Anyway, it is mind-boggling to me that such a great film can be whittled out of a novel so quickly.  This film debuted in 1940.  The novel was released not even one year prior.

Guess what, gang?  This is film number 89 on this quest.  As I did blocs of films I hadn't seen/those I had, and as I'm closing out with 10 films I'd seen before this began (and most of the 10 I've seen a LOT of times), that means I have ONE film left on the list that I've not seen in my lifetime, and indeed only one with which I'm not already intimately familiar (there were several films I'd seen before that I didn't remember as well as I thought).  That film?  "The Wild Bunch."  (Pssssssssst.  Since I wrote this paragraph, I watched it.  I've seen them all now, but have to finish this and one other piece.)

I called this film "great" above, and it is.  I'm not sure it's as great as #23 all time, but it's a great film. Directed by John Ford, a staunch conservative, and maker of all manners of westerns, etc., with John Wayne, this film seems to be decidedly in the "wrong" hands.  And yet Ford treats the subject with great care and sympathy.  Stunning vistas appear occasionally, and the visual presentation of the film is decidedly artistic.  Often placing the subjects of focus to the right or left of the screen, Ford uses many wide shots that serve to "weaken" the characters present, and make sure that we see the totality of what is affecting them, rather than just their faces.  The focus of the film is Tom Joad, played with tremendous sincerity by Henry Fonda.  Tom has just been released from prison, where he served 4 years of a 6 year sentence for homicide.  He was in a fight, a guy stabbed him, and Tom killed him.  The film opens with a shot of a crossroads, indeed, the opening scene takes place in parking lot of the "Cross Roads" store.  Ford isn't exactly subtle about this, as our protagonist is most assuredly at a crossroad in his life.  From there, Tom hitchhikes home, a couple of miles up the road in a delivery truck.  When he's dropped off, he runs into the character of Casy (John Carradine), who's "lost the spirit," and no longer preaches.  Striking up conversation with Tom, he joins him on the brief walk to the Joad farm.  Except the farm is abandoned.  There are traces of the Joads there, but the people have gone.  Poking around the house, they stumble upon a character named Muley Bates (John Qualen), hiding in the shadows of the Joad house.  Muley explains that the dust storms have wiped out the crops, the depression has wiped out the money, and that the banks have determined that sharecropping is no longer a viable option, and that they can compress 12 farms into one, and install one caretaker instead of multiple families.  It's a cruel, but economically sound strategy, but leaves families like the Joads out of their homes, with nothing to show for it.

Muley's scene is told in flashback, and is filled with wonderful visuals, like a brief montage showing Caterpillar tractors tearing up the land.  The final visual of the long shadows of his family after the house has been demolished in one quick push is exceptionally haunting.  Tom is told by Muley that the Joads are headed to California, and that they've gathered at his Uncle John's before the trip.  Tom and Casy head to see the Joads, and Tom is welcomed back warmly.  It turns out that he got there just in time, as the family was leaving the next morning.  There is an exceptional scene where Ma Joad (Jane Darwell, in an Oscar winning performance) rummages through her box of a few memorable items.  We see her take a dangling pair of earrings, a luxury item that a farm woman would rarely need, look at herself in the mirror...and...we see just how miserable she is.  Her reflection is not one of pride, nor joy, nor anything else in fond memory of times past with those earrings, it's all remorse.  The following morning, the Joads (all 12 of them) load into the truck, and ask Casy if he wishes to join them.  He readily agrees, and off they head to California, buoyed by a flyer promising good wages, plenty of jobs, a place to live, and a company store right on the farms.

The balance of the film is spent showing just how awful things were for the "Okies" as they were met with prejudice, unscrupulous bosses, and very few opportunities.  Along the way, Grandpa and Grandma both die, one of the sons stays at the border (although he really just disappears) of California, a son-in-law abandons his pregnant wife (Tom's sister).  The Joads do find work, picking peaches, and are given a little hovel to live in.  Wages are just enough to buy food for the family, and no more.  However, the farm is the subject of a workers' strike, and the Joads are breaking that.  A series of events have separated Casy from the family, and Tom sets out one night to find out about the strike.  Turns out Casy is one of the leaders.   As Tom is discussing matters with the leaders of the strike, a group of men approaches, armed with pick handles, and Casy is killed by a deputy.  Tom, in retaliation, kills that man, but is struck on the cheek, leaving an easily identifiable mark.  Tom is no longer safe on the farm (or really anywhere), so the family must leave.  It's pretty awful.


Ford is unflinching in the material that he shows, often taking the "side" of the downtrodden against the establishment.  Rabble-rousers are treated with reverence, and authority figures are generally corrupt. There is one very wonderful, very hopeful sequence which takes place in a Government camp, run as a sort of collective.  Frankly, without this sequence, I'm not certain I could have stayed with the film.  Oh, I'd have gotten through it for the sake of writing this, but it was pretty damned bleak.  I understand man's inhumanity to man.  I think people can be really shitty to each other.  This bright spot helped me, and its inclusion in the film came at just the right time.

It is hard, in the 21st century, with so many of us choosing a side and thinking that the other side is just completely out of its mind, to understand how a film like this might actually make sense coming from such a conservative mind.  I grew up in a Republican household, and while I do not share a lot of those values, never once did I feel that my parents were against the little guy.  They are very charitable people, and acutely aware of injustice.  I think that's what this film is really all about.  It's a tale of survival against the injustices of the powerful.  I can't really think of something more patriotic or "American" than that.

Acting in this film is generally very good.  Jane Darwell's Ma is a wonderful portrayal.  Steadfast, honest, caring, yet looking out for her own first, Ma Joad is a complex character, and Darwell gives a complex performance.  I will admit, however, that there are times when we see "stock worried mother," but she's usually very, very good.  Also of note is John Carradine's Casy.  Wacky when he needs to be, earnest when he needs to be, it's a wonderful performance from start to finish.


I need to say something that I'm not sure I want to say.  I'm not entirely certain that I particularly care for Henry Fonda as an actor.  The timbre of his voice is off-putting (I can hear Norman Thayer in the young man), and he generally sound annoyed whenever he speaks, even if he's not.  Now, I know that Fonda is an iconic film star, but I'm not sure I like him.  Of course, that may change in a film that's coming up soon in this list, but this film...and parts of that one...I feel...well.  I see the naturalness behind his interpretation, at times, but I sense a certain "put on" quality.  It's probably just his voice that annoys me.  Bah.  I feel like I've already ruffled feathers by not liking Cary Grant all that much.  I hope I don't alienate too many people if I impugn Henry Fonda.

I do want to talk about one particularly moving moment in the film.  There is a scene that happens in a campground where the Joads run into a guy who is leaving California and going home to the midwest.  The time in California has cost him his entire family, two children and a wife, all dead from starvation.  Contrasting that with the "hope" of the Okies headed west...it's stirring stuff.

I'm not entirely certain I'd call this a wonderful work of "art," but I'd call it a great film.  I'd call it a story that needed telling, and that story carries a great deal of water for this film.  So, in that sense, it is a great film.  I can understand people who think Fonda is great in this.  I just don't think that.  I may be wrong.

I'm glad I saw this film.  I'm not certain I will watch it again.  Who knows?  Maybe I need to see it again...to "get" it.  It's a great film.  Watch it if you want.  I can think of far worse ways to spend a couple of hours.

Ebert has similar thoughts (although I am in stark disagreement with him about Henry Fonda).  They can be found here.

Down to three...

...films that I've not seen before.  After this is done, it will be two, then onto the final 10.

I'm going to make it through my quest to watch the AFI Top 100 (10th Anniversary Edition) in a brief period of time.  I've missed my goal of my birthday, which is fine.  I could have made it, but it didn't make sense to watch some of these without partners, and that tends to slow me down.  Somehow, Julie doesn't want to watch a movie EVERY time we see each other.  This is one I watched with a couple of friends.

Film 88

88.  "The French Connection" (AFI Rank #93)

As a goal oriented person, I enjoy little milestones on the way.  This is the last film from the "Bottom 10" films I will be watching, and the first group of 10 films (my first criteria in organizing how I'd watch these) I will have "closed out." I have AFI rank film 50 still to come, but the group of 10 it comes from is 41-50, so it is still in the "40s", technically.  Useless shit my mind enjoys.

I have been honored to have any one of you share in this journey.  Some fun discussions have come out of it, along with watching some movies with people I care about.  Whether it was sitting in a room with me, or watching and sharing through the internet, I've been privileged to feel, throughout this, that I wasn't doing it alone. This time, that was literal.  My friend Geoff said to me a while ago, "When you get to "The French Connection," I want to watch it with you."  Then, my friend Ken said, "Yeah, I want in on that, too."  Some logistics later, we were able to meet last week, enjoy some ribs, gyros, beans, cole slaw, salad, and each other's company.  Oh yeah, and we watched this film.  I didn't take it as seriously, perhaps, as I could have, as I did some "MST3K" style commentary, and paused a couple of times to crack wise, but we watched the film intently, and the conversations during it were valuable to the film as an experience.

Winner of the Oscar for Best Picture of 1971, along with Best Actor for Gene Hackman, and Best Director for William Friedkin, this film has a weighty reputation as a gritty crime thriller.  It is that.  It is so much more, though, and that's what makes it great.

This film, like so many other great ones I've watched on this journey, just drops us in the middle of the story already unfolding.  Starting in Marseilles, France, and taking a long time to watch a man who gets shot in the face and never appears, except in very brief conversation, again, the first 5 minutes of this film - I said aloud -were part of, "The most French film I've ever seen."  There was a languid pace to the filming, with no explanation of just what the hell was going on.  Then, a guy's face exploded, a baguette was taken, and on we went to Brooklyn.  And the film starts running, and never, ever relents.  The film then plays parallel stories, one in France, one in Brooklyn, until the two finally intertwine in one city.  Brooklyn sets introduce us to Popeye Doyle, played by Gene Hackman, and Sonny Grosso, played by Roy Scheider.  The two are partners in the narcotics division of the New York City Police Department, working undercover to make minor arrests here and there.  While making a routine bust in a bar, Popeye is told by an informant that heroin in the city has dried up completely, and that something big is rumored to be on the way.  That's the set-up.  What we find out, eventually, is that 120 lbs. of pure heroin has come to New York in the rocker panels of a Lincoln, and that the only reason it's not on the streets yet is that the big players involved with purchasing it haven't gotten comfortable enough to pay the $500,000 price tag.  It doesn't hurt when it's revealed that the smack is worth $32 million when it's finally cut with God knows how many impurities, then distributed in smaller batches, until the supply is exhausted.  There are some seriously cool cats in charge of the deal on both sides, the French are the suppliers, the Americans are the buyers.  And two cops are figuring it all out.

While we were watching, we commented on New York City of the 70s.  What a gross, dirty place it was.  I'm sure it still is, but the filth just pours off the screen and into one's lap.  The city itself is as much a character as any human in the film.  We see, in one scene, two sides of life.  We see Doyle, the civil servant, standing outside in the bitter cold, watching as Alain Charlaine (the French kingpin, played by Fernando Rey) enjoys a multi-course meal in an opulent French retaurant.  We see Doyle choking on a slice of pizza.  We then see him disgustedly pour out his coffee, just as Alain and his dining partner are enjoying a cup from a French press.  We can see Doyle in the background of the interior shot.  It's a great scene, and it shows not only the two sides of the characters, but the two sides of New York.  Yes, it can be the city of dreams, but it can also serve a shitty cup of coffee and pizza.  It's a masterful scene.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the infamous car chase sequence.  I did not know, no matter how many times I've seen clips of the absolutely breahtaking car shots, that Popeye Doyle was chasing a train.  Researching the sequence a bit, and discovering that most of it was planned, but some of it wasn't, and some of it wasn't shot with permits, or with street closures...well.  What the hell?  Reckless is the word that comes to mind, for certain.  However, the thrill of that sequence is palpable.  That it is shot entirely without music is another coup-de-grace by the production team.  The music of the motors, squeal of tires, crashing of metal, etc., is all the scene needs, and it's executed brilliantly.  Oh, did I mention that this film won the Oscar for Best Editing also?  Because that is kind of a no-brainer when you watch this sequence.

Another major piece of brilliance happens on the train at another point in the film.  A game of cat and mouse between protagonist and antagonist ends in the bad guy getting the upper hand on Popeye, while never even letting on that he's in on the game, never looking in Doyle's direction.  He's just playing the detective for all he's worth, and he gets his man.  His smarmy wave "good-bye" to Doyle as the detective is left on the platform as the subway pulls away with his quarry on it is used to great effect later in the film, when Doyle has the upper hand.  It's a great moment, and it caps a terrific sequence.

Acting is good to great in this, but like the story itself, tends to take a while to digest.  At one point, I turned to my compatriots and said, "I'm not entirely sure I know what the hell is going on here," and we were at least halfway through the film.  Friedkin doesn't spoon-feed his audience, and relies on their ability, by film's end, to have put the pieces together.  This is a common practice in these films, and the acting on display reflects this.  Hackman is great as Doyle, part psychotic, part hero, part...psychotic. He's a man of depth, but that depth is only hinted at at times.  His porkpie hat, however, has become an iconic prop from a great film.  I will say one thing, the last moment that we see Popeye's face is chilling.  Simply chilling.

Roy Scheider plays Popeye's partner, and he is all his Roy Scheider best.  Part cool, part just tired, Scheider shows us the chops that he will put to much greater use in a film about a shark that is coming up for review soon.  We see a real connection between Doyle and Grosso, and it usually the "lesser" role that has to make that connection feel real.  Scheider is superb.  I should also mention Fernando Rey in this.  He's just dynamite as the French smuggler.  There is one other person that deserves recognition.  The real-life Popeye Doyle, a man named Eddie Egan, plays a role as the head of Doyle and Grosso's department.  He doesn't feel like a guy thrust into a film.  He feels like an actor playing a role, and playing it well.

There is a lot to digest in this film, and you need to keep your mind sharp as it progresses.  There are scenes of graphic violence that don't need to be there, but somehow make the film richer.  There are scenes that are brief that have great significance.  Time passes without us being aware of it.  Yet, if we stop and watch, there it is.  It's a film meant to be taken as a whole, rather than as a sum of its parts, and I loved that.  One thing about the ending, though.  It is fun, as the screen shows what happened to those that survive the ending, to note that the people who receive the most punishment at the end of the story are the police officers and the man who is used as a front for the whole thing.  Everyone else, for the most part, gets away with it.  That's a moral mindfuck that we have to love.  Once upon a time in Hollywood, stories weren't allowed to end with the bad guys winning.  This film, and films like this, made in the great era of the 60s and the 70s, threw that aside and said, "sometimes, sometimes, it's more interesting if the bad guys win."  That is most precisely the case with this film.

After it was over, we discussed it, and I asked my friends why they felt compelled to be there when I watched it.  Geoff mentioned the grittiness, and the very real filthy feeling that the film conveys, and that he just loves that.  Ken mentioned the final shot of the film, and how it feels like someone slammed a door in your face.  Interestingly, that gets used literally rather than figuratively in "The Godfather," the following year.  It was great fun to get to share the viewing of this film with these men, and I don't know if I'd have enjoyed it as much without them there.  I did enjoy the film a LOT, though.  It's a great one.

Ebert's take on this film is here.  It says 1971, but it references "Raiders Of The Lost Ark," so this was obviously written later.  Anyway, Ebert and I are on similar trajectories.