“The Sea Gull” (1968)
For the most part, Lumet’s theatrical background stood him in good stead in the film world, with a number of his best early films being derived from stage hits. The major exception is “The Sea Gull,” a mostly disastrous take on Anton Chekhov‘s great play (a play that, in this writer’s opinion, is among the very best ever). Lumet assembled an impressive cast, led by James Mason, Vanessa Redgrave, David Warner, Denholm Elliot and the great French star Simone Signoret, and shot on a lush Swedish location, but seems to have something of a tin ear for Chekhov. The writer always described the play as a comedy, and the very best productions have always been the ones which play it as such, but Lumet’s cast seem overwhelmed by tragedy, as doom-laden as Rod Steiger’s protagonist in “The Pawnbroker.” It’s oddly taste-free, for a man who made so many great choices: Gerry Fisher’s softly pastoral photography is misjudged, making the film pretty at the expense of truth, while the famous ending is entirely botched by the director’s decision to cut away to Konstantin’s body. Signoret and Redgrave both seem a little miscast, although Warner and Elliott in particular are superb. One for Chekhov completists only, really. [D+]
“The Anderson Tapes” (1971)
Sean Connery always had something of a reputation as an actor who would have a tempestuous relationship with directors, and even early on would occasionally phone in a performance, but he always had a top relationship with Lumet, working with the helmer on five separate occasions, so it was no surprise that, when he wanted to prove his leading man chops outside of the Bond franchise, he went to Lumet and to “The Anderson Tapes.” A fiendishly complex thriller with some neat, more-relevant-than-ever commentary on the surveillance society on the side, it involves the actor as a career burglar coerced into pulling off a heist for the Mob without the knowledge that the building’s under surveillance from a number of competing sources. Connery more than proved he could carry a movie away from 007, and the film remains pretty enjoyable, even if it’s an uneasy blend of the kind of gritty crime picture that Lumet would make his stock-in-trade, and the lighter caper flick so popular at the time. Bonus points for the first screen appearance of Christopher Walken and for the score, the second collaboration with jazz legend Quincy Jones, and, while not as ambitious as his work on “The Pawnbroker,” it’s still a classic. [C+]
“The Offence” (1972)
While much of Lumet’s films centered around police dealt with the corruption around them, this curious, minimal entry asked what would happen if an officer was compromised by something from within his own mind. Starring Sean Connery as Detective Sergeant Johnson , “The Offence” opens with a slo-mo sequence that would make Zack Snyder proud, with the detective savagely beating and killing a suspect in an interrogation room. The movie then jumps back, and in the first half hour, shows us the events leading up to what we’ve just seen. Johnson and the rest of the department are on the hunt of a serial child molester preying on local children, and after an exhaustive manhunt, they bring in somebody who Johnson and even his colleagues think may be their man — based not on evidence, but on their gut instinct. Johnson is so determined to get an answer he winds up killing the man. From there the film really only has two more long extended scenes. In one, which nearly grinds the film to a halt, Johnson returns home and gets into a domestic squabble with his wife who wants him to share his dark secrets and feelings with her and when he does, she’s horrified to the point of vomiting. The next, is an interview back at the police station with an investigator tasked with getting Johnson’s complete version of events. Finally, the film closes by jumping back to the talk Johnson had with the suspect and the dark, disturbing explanation for his overreaction is posited. It’s bold, challenging material but it’s ultimately trumped by the time jumping narrative which treats the revelation as a twist, cheating the film of a greater dramatic heft. And while Connery is in great form, the overly talky two-hour picture drags at times and never quite matches the crackling intensity the actor is bringing to the part. An interesting but not entirely rewarding inversion on Lumet’s continued study of law enforcement. [C]
“Serpico” (1973)
When the Antoine Fuqua-directed “Brooklyn’s Finest” dropped in 2009, its mix of cops-and-crooks scheming about Brooklyn projects rang with inauthenticity. This writer wonders what Lumet could have done with the same film — and if “Serpico” is any indication, the late director’s touch could have been the defining factor that tipped the scales, producing a true New York-bred film. Utilizing countless locations in early 1970s New York, “Serpico” mostly sticks to the facts of Frank Serpico’s true-life story and Pacino completes his meteoric post- ‘Godfather‘ rise with a complex, multi-layered portrayal of a good, but frequently conflicted, cop. “Serpico” is sometimes (and probably rightfully) overshadowed by the next Lumet/Pacino collab “Dog Day Afternoon”, but the gritty down-home quality of the film is hard to shake, and harder even to criticize. [A-]
“Murder on the Orient Express” (1974)
The term “they don’t make them like that anymore” has become something of a cliche, and it’s very rarely used correctly. For something like the Agatha Christie adaptation “Murder on the Orient Express,” it’s particularly untrue — the film is deliberately harking back to a glamorous time that never really existed. But it’s certainly hard to imagine a collection of stars of this caliber — Albert Finney, Lauren Bacall, Jacqueline Bisset, Jean-Pierre Cassel, Sean Connery, John Gielgud, Vanessa Redgrave and an Oscar-winning Ingrid Bergman, among many others — being assembled for a picture like this, or indeed any film ever again. Watching Finney, as Christie’s most famous creation, Hercule Poirot, poking at the ensemble as he investigates the titular slaying, is the kind of pleasure that it’s hard to find on the big-screen these days: no explosions or CGI creations, just great actors sparking off against each other, and beautifully shot throughout by the director. It’s feather-light, to be sure, but that’s part of the sumptuous joy of it. And if you’ve somehow managed to avoid knowing the solution, and you go in cold, it’ll still keep you guessing to the end. [B+]
“Dog Day Afternoon” (1975)
Lumet was often considered a filmmaker who transcended genres, which is true, but it seems like the sort of compliment that ignores how this spotlighted his greatest trait, which was a mastery of tone. Nowhere is that more evident than this true-crime suspense film, dealing with a momentous bank robbery in 1970’s Brooklyn that evolved into a media-fed hostage standoff. As Sonny, the deluded thief who is quickly in way over his head, Al Pacino gets laughs, but he also fearlessly plunges deep into the psyche of this damaged person, a humane depiction of a man with misplaced passion, oblivious to his own recklessness. Lumet never obscures the time frame of the event, a twelve hour moment in history, but the film is paced so tightly that its tonal shifts don’t feel like directorial flourishes as much as the natural rhythms of real conversation. Amongst the 70s classics, “Dog Day Afternoon,” with its criminal behavior, harsh language and downbeat ending, still feels like one of the most affecting and generous, because Lumet and screenwriter Frank Pierson remain dedicated to telling a story about a crime, and not about criminals. [A]
