Oscar-winning director William Friedkin, who died this week at 87, always seemed to be about 60 years old. Whether he was 35 or 85, Friedkin was always your favorite great and grizzled uncle who told fascinating stories, never took himself too seriously, and never worried about what anyone thought of his opinion or how he expressed it. He was a man who had seen it all, done it all, and had the accomplishments either behind him or in front of him to back up the bravado. He was riveting, informed, confident, charming, full of energy, and funny. Listening to the director’s commentary on most movies can feel like homework. With William Friedkin, it’s pure joy.
In one of his commentaries, Friedkin spoke of his favorite movies. I was pleased that our tastes closely aligned, especially when he declared the MGM musicals of the 1950s (The Band Wagon (1953), Singin’ in the Rain (1952)) to be the all-time height of filmmaking, something I’ve been saying (see #10) for decades. He also mentioned Notorious (1946), Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989), Breathless (1960), Citizen Kane (1941), Bullitt (1968), No Country for Old Men (2007), Blood Simple (1984), Antonioni’s Ennui trilogy, and some I hadn’t seen but have since. Something else he mentioned was how he still hoped to direct a film that would be remembered in the same way Citizen Kane and Rashomon (1950) are remembered.
He was being modest. By then, he had already directed four titles that will be remembered forever, three of which were included in my (Dennis Miller-endorsed) Top 165 Greatest American Movies list…
The French Connection (1971)
Number 20 on my list. Here’s part of what I wrote:
Gene Hackman (who also grabbed an Oscar) is scintillating as Popeye Doyle, a driven cop whose sharply-honed instincts and sharp edges puts him on the trail of a major international heroin ring. Once Doyle’s tenacity turns to obsession, Friedkin ignores the true part of this true story to instead take us to a dark and fascinating place.
The French Connection is one of those movies I will never be able to watch enough.
Friedkin once called superhero movies “opium for the eyes” and said that the best movies send you home with something to discuss, debate, and argue over. He sought to achieve that with each of his films and certainly did here. The French Connection closes on a note that, in lesser hands, would feel unsatisfying, even pretentious. Friedkin’s abrupt ending is perfect, but don’t ask me why. After 20-plus viewings, I’m still savoring the pleasure of trying to figure it out.
The Exorcist (1973)
Number 106 on my list. Here’s part of what I wrote:
William Peter Blatty’s Oscar-winning screenplay (based on his own novel) drops Jesus Christ right into the secular world of Hollywood. And if you watch closely, the story about a little girl possessed by the Devil is but a subplot. The Exorcist is really about saving the soul of a priest (an unforgettable Jason Miller) who has lost his faith.
In fiction, the Lord works through a child. In the dark reality of 1973 America, the Lord worked through a harrowing R-rated horror film brought to stunning life by a brilliant and mercurial director, William Friedkin, who was on the hottest streak since John Ford directed Stagecoach, Young Mr. Lincoln, Drums Along the Mohawk, The Grapes of Wrath, and The Long Voyage Home in just two years — 1939 and 1940.
The best thing I can say about The Exorcist is that it is still rewatchable even after the scares have worn off due to repeat viewings. Like Halloween – #165 (1978), Psycho – #14 (1960), the Universal Monster (#85), and the Val Lewton classics, Friedkin’s brilliant filmmaking, the story, characters, themes, and overall mood keep you coming back.
Sorcerer (1977)
Number 28 on my list. Here’s part of what I wrote:
Friedkin’s obvious theme is that the world can either work together or blow up. The subtler theme is picked up from a portion of a memoir read aloud in the first act, “No one is just anything.”
These characters start out as nothing to us, the very dregs of mankind, and without ever betraying who they really are, we begin to see glimmers of humanity. This is an extraordinary achievement on Friedkin’s part, second only to two bridge-crossing sequences that are two of the most jaw-dropping moments ever caught on film. Nothing Indiana Jones did even comes close.
If I were to redo my Top 165 list today, I would rank Sorcerer in the top ten. What Friedkin accomplished (without computers) is an astonishment. He also remade and surpassed a masterpiece (1953’s Wages of Fear). Has that ever been done before?
Sorcerer bombed so badly that it derailed Friedkin’s career. He blamed it on two things. The first was Sorcerer hitting theaters a week after Star Wars, a movie that swamped the competition and rewired America’s collective pop culture brain. No more would we be interested in morally compromised anti-heroes sweating their way through an ugly world. Second, he blamed it on losing Steve McQueen in the lead role and having to settle for Roy Scheider.
He’s undoubtedly right on both accounts, but from an artistic point of view, Scheider was perfect. Sorcerer would not have been the same led by a superstar like McQueen. Scheider is human. We can relate to him. We can never relate to McQueen because we can never measure up to him. So, instead of waiting for McQueen to save the day, we sit there wondering how anyone will survive.
To Live and Die in L.A. (1985)
Even in the Rambo era, Friedkin continued to make 1970s movies. Like Gene Hackman’s Popeye Doyle, William Petersen’s Secret Service agent is exposed as increasingly reckless and amoral in pursuing the counterfeiter (Willem Dafoe) who murdered his mentor.
The action sequences, especially a pursuit through an airport and a second-to-none car chase, are unforgettable, as are the plot twists that ratchet the tension to nearly unbearable until Friedkin pulls the rug out of from under everything and still makes it work.
At the time, like Sorcerer, To Live and Die in L.A. was dismissed at the box office and by most critics. I still remember sitting in a downtown theater with two or three others feeling like I’d discovered a secret. The secret is out now, and I’m glad Friedkin lived long enough to see this and Sorcerer get their due.
Other Friedkin recommendations…
Cruising (1980): A near classic that upset all the wrong people then, and still does today. Friedkin’s director commentary on the Blu-ray is as good as the movie, maybe better,
Jade (1995): A beautifully directed piece of sexy pulp that almost overcomes an awful script and the miscasting of David Caruso.
Killer Joe (2011): An NC-17 movie so ugly, funny, and uncompromising that you’re glad you saw it once but will never watch it (or eat a chicken leg) again. Star Matthew McConaughey walked away with all the accolades, and he’s very good, but Gina Gershon is the unheralded MVP.
The lesson filmmakers should take away from William Friedkin is never to judge your characters. This is what today’s insufferable woketards will never understand. The best storytellers refuse to tell us what to think about anything, especially their characters. Instead, Friedkin left that judgment up to us, which is one of the primary reasons his movies achieved what he most wanted when we took them home with us to debate and ponder. The moment you tell us what to think of your characters, you reduce them to something simplistic and dull; you remove the nuance that makes them human, and the result is a Big Nothing because we forget them before we hit the lobby.
No one’s ever going to forget William Friedkin or his art.
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