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"But who polices the police?" Dirty Harry apparently needed a bit of clarification, and this is it, from artists (Clint Eastwood, John Milius, Michael Cimino) who are no strangers to inane accusations of "fascism." Criminals are freed thanks to "those snot-nosed young bastards down at the D.A.'s office," from white-collar racketeers to murderous pimps, self-appointed executioners take them down. The Milius-Cimino screenplay promptly catches up with Eastwood's Harry Callahan—the inspector foils an airplane hijacking during his lunch break, his superior (Hal Holbrook) cries his name the way Dreyfus cried "Clouseau!" A charming bit has the protagonist caught off guard by his neighbor's frank query as a trolley clangs by in the deep-focus background (passengers wave at the camera), though his wry passion is inflamed far more by the fearsome target-practice shooting of a batch of academy rookies (David Soul, Robert Urich, Tim Matheson and Kip Niven). Ted Post's virile camerawork gives the supermarket shootout its due viscera, and lays out the themes in the marksman competition where the "good guy" cardboard cop is shot down. Law itself is a notion up for grabs ("as long as the right people get shot..."), yet police force has been boiled down to the helmets, leather, sunglasses, and Nazi impulses that Anger brewed in Scorpio Rising. "All our heroes are dead," declare the neo-Gestapo to Callahan, who, faced with a magnification of his philosophy, sounds like James Stewart confronted by eager pupils in Rope. (Spellbound is evoked in the opening credits, as a .44 Magnum revolver in ceremonial profile turns and discharges at the viewer.) Revelation in the darkened garage, showdown beneath intense naval blues, "a certain sense of style" picked up by Hyams in The Star Chamber. With Felton Perry, Mitchell Ryan, Christine White, Margaret Avery, Albert Popwell, Tony Giorgio, and Adele Yoshioka.
--- Fernando F. Croce |