Charlie Varrick - 1973 - Film

Saturday, March 18, 2006

"What's the movie called again?" I kept asking my friend over and over yesterday afternoon. "Charlie Varrick," he reminded me. The name of this film kept falling out of my brain, apparently, and I didn't know anything about it other than 1) Don Siegel (of Invasion of the Body Snatchers fame) directed it, and 2) Walter Matthau starred in it. Let me say now that this title, Charley Varrick, won't be forgotten again, because it's the best movie I've seen in weeks, maybe months.

I knew it was great from the moment the opening production title appeared, that panorama of stars in space then the blue and green globe with yellow letters spelling "Universal" across it. It was just a gut feeling, but there was something theatrical about it that struck me. Usually I can tell if I like a film within the first five minutes of its start, but in this case it took me less than 5 seconds to know it was going to be good.

There were a few things that stood out in this film, the scenery and dialogue. The film is set in New Mexico on the dusty terrain between the mountains and desert plains, with huge blue skies illuminating everything. The shots are set up so that nature is always in the picture, it's almost like a character in its own right; you can't ignore the sublime light of the mountains, sun and sky, and trees, or the deserted winding roads that cut through it. The scenery felt tangible, as if the sun were shining right into the theater, and there was such a familiarity to it. This latter point could be due to the fact that I spent many years of my life in Colorado, where much of the terrain is the same. Nonetheless, there is a serene, calming effect of this natural space, and it contrasts drastically with the gory encounters we have with the characters.

In one scene Charley's (Walter Matthau) now late partner-in-crime lays open-eyed and bloodied in the corner of his trailer home. The camera stops steady on his face so we get a chance to absorb what a dead man looks like. It's not done exploitatively so as to shock us, but rather, the image is given to us to examine one piece at a time. The camera cuts back to Charley, we see how he reacts to the bloody face, as if directing us to "Now look at this." Then we see the hollow face of the dead man again, and very rationally Siegel walks us through this rather devastating death scene with controlled breaths. In a fraction of a second the camera cuts and we once again move from the dingy decay of the trailer's interior to the bright daylight of the southwest sun.

There is a conscious balance between what's bloody and terrifying (i.e. explosions, shooting victims) and what's beautiful (i.e. nature). The constant images of landscape, and what seem to be incognito verite shots of a neighborhood with kids playing, sprinklers glittering, and pedestrians walking, keep your adrenaline at bay. This film is as much about surveilling scenery as it is about Charley's venture to keep three-quarters of a million dollars in stolen laundered cash out of the hands of its rightful mob owners', and subsequently, of course, to keep him alive and very wealthy. There is even what looks like a prelude to Scorsese's famous surveillance shot at the climax of Taxi Driver (1976) in a scene outdoors that pulls up and out of the action, and swiftly above the heads of a squadron of police and the flashing lights atop their cars.

Though the scene that stood out the most in terms of this observance of the landscape and the characters within it, took place between the branch manager of the bank that Charley robbed and the owner of that bank. The two men pull their car to the side of the road next to a cattle corral, and there is nothing beyond it but open space as far as the horizon. The sun is up, but slowly descending behind the foothills beyond them. The bank owner sits atop a fence telling the opposing man his morbid fate with the mobsters. Clouds move over the sun at varying times, the light and color melt into different shadings so subtly that you don't notice the change until after its happened. The dialogue between the two men continues, and constant with their speech are the ever-changing tones and shadows across the sky and field. Yellows fade to cool blues and purples, hard rays of the sun are diffused and scattered by clouds, and the first shadows of the foothills start to reach across the plain. It is a sublime moment with nature, yet at the same time a man's death has just been sentenced.

Charley Varrick is taut with anxiety, but from a perspective that takes us through it as if we're on a nature walk. Certain characters are identified along the way, not because they're important to the story, but seemingly so that we understand the human nuance of Charley's plan. Unexpected events occur: his wife is killed, his partner is untrustworthy, his car won't start immediately. These details show us not everything can be planned exactly, that things go wrong, and people are spontaneous. There are odd pieces of dialogue from tertiary characters that seem to have nothing to do with the plot. A boy runs up to a policeman with blood smeared on his forehead, identifies (incorrectly) Charley's plate numbers, notices the blood on his face and asks, "Are you going to die?" His blunt question is funny, though only because it's unexpected and awkwardly earnest. Another scene has the police blocking the bank owner from entering the branch, when suddenly and matter-of-factly a girl on a swing asks him to push her. At this point a handful of people have been shot and in the upwards of $750,000 is missing. Yet the man gives her a push with a smile as if it were on the agenda.

I do not know how this film managed to miss my attention until now. I haven't seen anything as odd, witty, terrifying and gory, and simultaneously beautiful as this in a long time. It's incredibly rich in regards to its historical context and its technical aesthetic and I can't wait to see it again. Next time I'll remember the name.