The last few 1960s-1970s thrillers I've watched recently have not been what I'd imagined. Marathon Man, The Great Escape, The French Connection all turned out to be much grittier, much less polished than I'd expected from all of the hype. They deserved the praise that preceded them, yes, but it just wasn't what I had prepared myself to see. Each of them was much more present and unpretentious than I'd grown used to movies being. In a way it's great that the accolades accrued over time haven't smoothed their edges or magically updated their contextual charm, but sometimes we (or at least I) forget how impossible it really is for time to do that to a great film.
After experiencing this with countless "timeless" thrillers of yore, thanks to Netflix's ample back catalog, I should have known better than to underestimate Bullitt. It wasn't until a year or two ago that I finally climbed onto the Steve McQueen bandwagon after being introduced through The Great Escape. I'd expected a much more traditional American hero, whatever that means, and I was half pleasantly surprised with McQueen's charm, half wondering what all the fuss was about. The effect was similar as I started watching Bullitt, but it was the film itself that really got me.
The sound was one of the key factors that pulled me in. Music appears out of nowhere as the action ramps up, and then disappears before the climax and the fallout. Much of the film is quiet and dependent on the diegetic sound: breathing, footsteps, live bands, and car engines. I could write a whole thesis on the sound design in this movie, transcribing the notes I couldn't help but jot down throughout, but I'll resist for now. (The fax machine! The car chase! The last sound of the running water!) Needless to say I was little surprised to learn that the film was nominated for an Oscar in sound design.
It successfully won recognition for Best Film Editing, which didn't surprise me either. It wasn't even nominated for cinematography, though, but perhaps the novelty of the camera work is what's most appealing to me — it has aged into recognition, at least in my book. The number of creative angles, especially point of view shots, that punctuate the film (in its silence) were particularly noteworthy. Instead of leaving a scene after the dialogue, the camera often follows important bit players in the drama in its own subtle foreshadowing. What really does it, though, is that the camera is often fixed to one point. Not until eight years later in 1976's Marathon Man would the steadicam change cinematography forever — its fluid movement often taken for granted nowadays — but most films I've seen from before the advent of such equipment skirted around those limitations; they didn't use the fixed camera to the effect I saw in Bullitt. Instead of leaving a cab with our characters, we stay fixed on a bobble-head dog in the back window and accompany it into the car wash, our view of the subject of the scene obstructed by suds, water, and finally hands with buffing towels. At times we stay tight on the rear view mirror during a chase. We ride along inside the car, right beside Bullitt, going up and down the San Francisco hills as the engines hum.
And it was in these moments that I embraced Steve McQueen's character. He doesn't even need Clint Eastwood's steely glare to support his strong, silent maleness. He doesn't yell, he just barely grimaces ( and since he did most of his own stunts, those were probably coming from a very real place). He doesn't tell, he shows in a real way, physically shielding his female companion from harsh realities without a word. Actually, the film itself matches Bullitt's personality closely: a lot of silence, a little bit of a girl, and music only until you need to focus. It's no nonsense just like him. I know it's trite to end an essay with this, but I wish they made movies like this now. The making of this piece of art is so tangible in the result, and it is so well-crafted, yet it's seamless and earnest in its grit like the other movies of its era. Perhaps those palpable feelings can't be recreated today. But we are really missing out.
There is a classic Antonioni dorsal shot at some point in the movie (that also reminds me of On the Waterfront). I couldn't fit it in here, but I got really excited!
