The French Connection (1971): Gene Hackman, Roy Scheider, Fernando Rey. Directed by William Friedkin, Screenplay by Ernest Tidyman based on Robin Moore's book.

One of my favorite films, and a film that I watch again nearly every year, is the film that elevated director William Friedkin to the level that Warner Brothers would entrust him with another literary treatment, a horror story called "The Exorcist". But that's jumping ahead. In October, 1971, the film version of a best-selling non-fiction book (yes, studios used to go to books for ideas, rather than just remaking old films, imagine that) called "The French Connection: A True Account of Cops, Narcotics, and International Conspiracy" by Robin Moore splashed across screens around the world and introduced the world to Popeye Doyle, a hard-nosed detective who wouldn't stop just because it was time to clock out.

"The French Connection" epitomizes, for me, what filmmaking in the 70's was all about. It's gritty and harsh, but you can still identify (and laugh with) the main characters. Gene Hackman plays Popeye Doyle, in a performance you'd have a hard time finding an equal to in his long career, and is joined by Roy Scheider as his partner, "Cloudy" Russo. The film was shot entirely on location on the streets of New York, and often, shot on-the-fly with an Arriflex, without shooting permits, wherever and whenever they could get shots, at one point even causing a traffic jam to fit a plot point.

This is what true filmmaking is all about. Friedkin has admitted many times that he was greatly influenced by the European school of filmmaking, particularly Costa Gavras, especially "Z". "The French Connection" carries the theme of the frantic opening credits as its benchmark for the rest of the story. Even if the subject matter is a bunch of guys sitting around in cars watching other guys, you can feel the relentless push of the narrative, and, likewise, the push within Popeye Doyle to catch "Frog One" at his own game. How does Friedkin accomplish this? Often, characters in conversation scenes (especially in cars) are shot from behind, facing forward, or, in the case o the scene where Popeye and Cloudy hassle drug dealers in a bar, Friedkin has Hackman in constant motion, away from the camera, toward the camera, then our view flips around and he is moving away from the camera again. Constant motion. A jarring leap from the static scenes in the police station and bar at the beginning of the film, before the moment when Cloudy tosses the straw hat (a signal that they are on duty undercover) in the back seat, signalling the start of the case. From that point, the film doesn't let up until the gunshot at the end.

I think absolutely everyone involved with this production brought their A-game to the set each day and it shows with every frame of the film. I can't find anything wrong with this film, even after repeated viewings. The amazing tension of Doyle and Russo tailing "Frog One" (Fernando Rey) through the streets, having Popeye meet him face to face in the subway, then "Frog One's" retaliation, climaxing with the dizzying chase through the streets of Brooklyn.

For this chase, Friedkin was bound and determined it would best the famous sequence in "Bullitt", and, even though I hold a special place in my heart for the Steve McQueen film, I find the subway chase scene here, far, far superior. As with the rest of the film, most of the footage captured during this chase scene was real, with stunt driver Bill Hickman tear-assing through the streets of Brooklyn in a speeding camera-mounted car. In a way, how the film was shot was a direct reflection of the lead character in the story: no-nonsense, uncompromising, getting the job done any way he can.

The film's poster sums it up perfectly, "Doyle is bad news, but a good cop", paired with Hackman at the bottom of a subway platform shooting a bad guy in the back. Some of the cops involved with the production of the film objected to this image, but Eddie Egan, on whom Popeye Doyle was based, approved.

If you haven't seen "The French Connection" and you like cop fiction (or just good old fashioned guerrilla filmmaking), you owe it to yourself to rent or pick yourself up a copy. It was followed by one sequel (and two very loose tie-in movies), the appropriately titled "French Connection II" (directed by John Frankenheimer), which is okay if it's on late one night and you can't sleep, but pales in comparison to the first.

The Godfather (1972): Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, James Caan, Robert Duvall, John Cazale and Diane Keaton. Directed by Francis Ford Coppola, Screenplay by Mario Puzo, from his novel.

When I was growing up in the seventies, everything was "The Godfather", and rightly so, as the film has taken its place as one of the best American films ever made.

I recall reading in "Easy Riders, Raging Bulls" by Peter Biskind, how William Friedkin rode past Francis Coppola and his friends on the street after winning his Oscar for "The French Connection", waving the statue out the window, shouting. I don't know if this served directly as an impetus to Coppola to make the best movie he possibly could, but he did.

Unlike "The French Connection", "The Godfather" is pure Hollywood. The camera is fixed or moves only very slightly most of the time. Coppola is filming a grand opera and he holds no bones about it, right up to the grande finale with organ music blaring amid the many deaths of the families that have dared back the Corleones into a corner. It's widely been said that Coppola didn't want the job, his close friends George Lucas and Martin Scorsese were making the kind of arty films that he wanted to make, but there seems to be a struggle within Coppola between the filmmaker and the businessman. The businessman won over in the case of "The Godfather", but the filmmaker emerged when it was time to shoot. If "The Godfather" is the result of Coppola's laziness, all filmmakers should be blessed with this kind of laziness, for his style is completely effortless, the way he methodically and meticulously plows through very complex material. Not bad for a guy who used to work for Roger Corman.

Unlike most films today, virtually every aspect of "The Godfather" is thought out in precise detail. The main story, Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) returning to his "connected" family and refusing to become involved, is reflected in everything from locations to dialogue delivery, to colors. The opening scenes, cutting back and forth between Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando) meeting in his dark study and his daughter's (Talia Shire) bright wedding, dark and light obvious references, but Coppola has Michael dressed in a green military uniform where everyone else is dressed in black and white. He is not part of the family. Pacino plays him, slouching, sulking, talking in a soft and quiet voice, unlike his loud and raucous brother, Sonny (James Cann). But as the story progresses, and Michael is drawn more and more into the family business, the settings become darker; he saves his father from an assassination attempt in a shadowy hospital, and then, outside, in the dark, has his jaw broken by Captain McCluskey (Sterling Hayden). From this point forward (apart from Michael's exile in Sicily), the settings are dark, Michael now wears dark clothes like the rest of the family, and speaks differently, in an affected, broken-jaw tone, like his father's strange speech patterns. He is becoming his father.

It's hard to find anything wrong with "The Godfather". The film is usually listed alongside "Citizen Kane" as the top films ever made, and Coppola, like Welles, seems to show the same out-of-nowhere genius in every frame of the film. The film is a classical tragedy, and you can feel that anguished lament throughout. When you meet Michael Corleone, you know that he is going to slide to the dark side and become part of something he doesn't want to become a part of, but all you can do is watch as the tragedy is realized.

"The Godfather" was a smash hit, the novel already a best-seller and wise businessman Coppola made a deal with Paramount that he would not do a sequel to the film unless they funded and released another film he wanted to make first called "The Conversation". They agreed and Coppola delivered both: a brooding drama about a surveillance expert who meets his match and a sequel to one of the greatest American films yet made that actually surpassed the original.

With the end of "The Godfather II", Coppola had taken the character of Michael Corleone as low as he possibly could (ordering the execution of his own brother) and the only way he could go lower would be for the filmmaker to go into Hell himself, which he did with his eight year shoot for "Apocalypse Now". The years following would show that Coppola could not top these three films, although he did try to wrap up the Corleone story with "The Godfather III", but too many years had passed and the story was already over. Seen "The Godfather"?

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (1974): Walter Matthau, Robert Shaw, and Martin Balsam. Directed by Joseph Sargent, Screenplay by Peter Stone, from a novel by John Godey.

If ever there was a movie in the history of movies that didn't need a remake, it's "The Taking of Pelham One Two Three". Despite this, a second remake is already underway. Let me clarify my position, once and for all: I don't get the point of remakes. Sure, I can see how there can be some reward in doing an updated version, like if the original was a silent film, or if the filmmaker is adding something new to the mix (setting or casting or something inspired) or doing a more faithful version of an original novel or play, but in the case of something like this classic seventies film, I just don't see any point. I really don't.

There is just so much from this film that can't be improved or duplicated and I think the 1998 Toronto-filmed TV remake already proved that. Joseph Sargent ("Colossus: The Forbin Project", "MacArthur" and "Jaws: The Revenge"), sure, isn't among the names on the top of your list for greatest directors the world has ever seen, but the cast that's assembled for this adaptation of the John Godey novel: Walter Matthau, Robert Shaw and Martin Balsam, just cannot be beat.

The story is very straightforward, it's basically what "Airport" would look like if it took place on the New York subway system. Matthau is the cranky Subway Commission cop who has the bad luck to be on duty the day that Robert Shaw and a team of cohorts, including an ex-subway employee, Martin Balsam, take a subway car hostage. Denzel Washington is playing the Walter Matthau role in the latest remake. I'll just let silence pass at this point while that sinks in.

Of course, you could be asking yourself, this sounds like a serious story, they should cast someone like Washington and not the guy from "The Odd Couple" and "The Bad News Bears". Like I said, this is a (pre-9/11) New York disaster movie, clearly you've got to have attitude and humor. I won't spoil the ending, because it's one of the best endings in the history of film, but it relies on humor. It doesn't work if you don't have the wry look on Walter Matthau's face in the final frames.

Like all good fiction, every character in the script has their own unique idiosyncrasy or flaw that makes them more than human, which drives the plot and creates obstacles and conflict. Robert Shaw, of course, is chilling as "Mr. Blue" (yes, all the criminals are identified by colors, just like "Reservoir Dogs"), one of his top performances to which he manages to instill only as much levity as is required without losing his edge (John Travolta will be playing him in the Tony Scott remake). Martin Balsam is also in top form as "Mr. Green", rattled, downtrodden and bitter, but on the verge of cracking through the whole operation. Lee Wallace plays a hypochondriac Mayor who relies solely on the input of his staff before making decisions. He also played the Mayor in Tim Burton's "Batman", due to his uncanny resemblance to former NY mayor Ed Koch. He'll be played by James Gandolfini in this new remake. Now that's casting that's a million light years away from the original.

If you haven't seen "The Taking of Pelham One Two Three", rush out and get yourself a copy now. I already feel in my bones that this is going to be a case of a title slipping out of print for a little while as the remake makes the rounds.  

Jaws (1975): Roy Scheider, Robert Shaw, and Richard Dreyfuss. Directed by Steven Spielberg, Screenplay by Peter Benchley and Carl Gottlieb, based on Benchley's novel.

You know, watching the trailer at the bottom of this page makes me want to watch this film again, even though I watched it last only little over a month ago. I guess this is not only because it's a well-made film (against all odds), but cracking good fun as well.

By this point, in the 1970's, I was starting to get to the age where I could sneak into PG and R rated movies on my own, so a lot of my favorite films come from the 1974 - 1976 era. I guess, trying to cash in on the lines-around-the-block stir that "The Exorcist" caused only a couple of years before, Universal pulled out all the stops on the hype and tie-ins. I think I had every conceivable piece of shark paraphernalia, including several Doodle Art posters (older readers will remember those ... they were basically an excuse to sell replacement pens). I even made this terrific dinner plate, as part of a school project, that showed a guy being bloodily eaten by a great white. Mmmmmm.

What I didn't realize, at my young age, enjoying the film merely as entertainment, was how new and different a voice Spielberg was to filmmaking at the time. I can certainly see, looking back now, how serious filmmakers would look down on him, since he seemed to be the genius culmination of years of television and film as a basic diet. He wasn't making "film", he didn't seem to care about making "film", he was making "movies", like the ones he enjoyed when he was growing up, only better, much, much better.

It was really a turning point in film history, where directors who had grown up, surrounded by visual storytelling, were now telling their own stories, often regurgitations and reimaginings of what had already been made previous. Not remakes, but wholly original material inspired by classic material. "Jaws", on the surface, is a horror film. It's about a monster eating people and has enough jolts to keep a young audience happy, but at its core, it's an adventure film, and that's no more apparent than in the second half, when the tables turn and the hunt for the shark begins.

Spielberg's creative enthusiasm was infectious, especially to younger filmmakers who were starting off like he did, in their back yards with an 8mm camera. I have to admit, I myself cut a fin shape from a rubber car floor mat, nailed it to a couple of pieces of wood tied to a string and made my own super-8 shark epic in the lake behind our house (with the help of some leftover bits of meat from the local butcher, something that excited most of the dogs in the neighborhood).

The summer of 1975 was the summer of "Jaws" and it's a summer I will long remember. The film was a phenomenon unlike any before it. There was no denying Universal had hit the jackpot and for the years that followed its release they would try to duplicate its success by taking a few variables here and a couple elements there and jamming them into some other property without success. Single-minded creatures, like sharks, studios are. With dollar signs in their eyes, the movie business was beginning to no longer exist as merely an industry that makes films, other ways for money to be made were emerging. True filmmaking had only a couple of years left, before a friend of Spielberg's spectacularly and unwittingly dealt the final blow. 

Dog Day Afternoon (1975): Al Pacino, John Cazale, Charles Durning and Chris Sarandon. Directed by Sidney Lumet, Screenplay by Frank Pierson, based on an article by P.F. Kluge and Thomas Moore.

Before the age when all movies needed a deafening wall-to-wall music soundtrack, there were movies like "Dog Day Afternoon", which, apart from the opening title track ("Amoreena" by Elton John) which fades into a car radio as the story begins, there isn't a single note of music for the rest of the film. The story is left to the script, and the director and the performers.

Based on the real-life story of John Wojtowicz, Al Pacino, who'd become a huge boxoffice star after "The Godfather", its sequel, and "Serpico", plays Sonny Wortzik, who attempts a very misguided bank robbery which ends in a 12-hour siege and media sideshow.

The script, by Frank Pierson, is incredibly simple, taking place mainly inside the bank and its surrounding buildings, but once the film is over, you feel you have been through a massive ordeal. It's not the the film is an ordeal, it's a pleasure to watch, and it's not that it's all gloomy and tense, more than anything, the film plays as a tragic-comedy with serious actors in a very serious situation than anything else. What director Sidney Lumet did was to rehearse and improvise with the actors, using the script as a backbone, then had Pierson incorporate what worked into the final version. The result is so realistic it comes off in parts like a documentary.

The thing that made films shine in the seventies, as far as I'm concerned, is that writers and directors and actors were not afraid to make a loser or an outcast the main character — or hero — of a story. This film is a perfect case in point. There is no reason, going into this film, that you should like or side with Pacino's character, he's a loser who's resorted to robbing a bank and can't even do that right, but, over the course of the film, you grow to empathize with him, much in the same manner the hostages do in the film.

The amazing thing about Pacino, and something that most of the world knows already from his long career, is that, a few minutes after the start of each performance, you don't see Al Pacino "the star" anymore, just whatever character he is playing. Lumet ("The Hill", "The Anderson Tapes", "Serpico", "Network", "The Verdict" and many, many more) has always been wise with his actors, and has just let them do what they were hired to do and they respect him for it.

The ending, is gut-wrenching and shows very clearly the fickle nature of everyday relationships (even if that relationship is the one between a hostage and a gunman). Lumet knows how to capture this and does it in merely a couple of shots, he doesn't slam you over the head with it the way filmmakers or screenwriters are taught today, making films, primarily, for an audience who are distracted by other things while watching.

I love this movie. It's definitely in my top ten, and not because the camera flies around all over the place or because the cinematography matches some painting that someone did a hundred years ago. It is what it is: a couple of guys trying to rob a bank with unfortunate results. I know it doesn't sound like a load of yucks, but I urge you to see it if you haven't already and quick, before someone does a remake!  

Taxi Driver (1976): Robert DeNiro, Cybill Shepherd, Peter Boyle, Harvey Keitel and Jodie Foster. Directed by Martin Scorsese, Screenplay by Paul Schrader.

When "Taxi Driver" first came out in theatres in 1976, I remember seeing the ads on TV, and I remember my parents heading off to see it: the most talked-about film of the year. It didn't really interest me at the time, although, for some reason it made me think of "Psycho" and I didn't know why.

Since then, I've seen "Taxi Driver" countless times, on home video, on DVD, in rep theatres. It's just one of those films that hits me in the right spot, and I could probably watch it a couple of times in a row without getting bored of it. For me, it's like a really good song. It's not a particularly pretty song, but it's a good song nonetheless.

Paul Schrader, who apparently wrote the screenplay in less than a week (a loaded gun on his desk the whole time, for inspiration), has said that the story is partly autobiographical, having felt isolated and angry at a certain point in his life. He wasn't sure if there was anyone else in the world who would be able to connect with the story, but, giving it to Martin Scorsese and Robert DeNiro to read, they both said they "got it." The film truly shows itself as a labor of love on the part of Scorsese. After many, repeated viewings, I can't find a single frame out of place (except maybe the scene where "Sport" [Harvey Keitel] dances with Iris [Jodie Foster] toward the end of the film ... because it's not from Travis' [DeNiro] P.O.V., it just doesn't seem like it belongs in the story).

The film stands out, for me, not only as the ultimate seventies film (richly-textured characters, especially the anti-hero main lead, gritty cinematography on grainy stock), but stands out, as well, as a work of art. Scorsese takes risks, not only with the core material, but with little nuances within it, such as the scene where Travis is begging Betsy (Cybil Shepherd) over the phone for another chance, and the camera slides away from him, pointing instead down an empty hallway, indicating that the conversation is far too painful to remain focused on a character in agony.

There has been a lot of debate (possible spoilers for the rest of this paragraph if you haven't seen the film) over the ending and whether or not it actually happens or is all a figment of Travis' imagination as he "dies" (metaphorically, figuratively, whatever). It's intriguing to ponder, but I think you have to look at how the film is constructed for an answer to this: at no point during the entire narrative are we given a look into Travis' fantasy world, we are shown everything with brutal and painful honesty, so why, at the end, would we suddenly be given this option? Because only in death can Travis truly indulge his fantasy? To me, it seems unlikely. I prefer to look on the whole coda as an ironic turn of events happening to someone who truly deserves a break from the cards he has dealt himself. When we last see him, looking into the rear view mirror of his cab, we know that he will return to what he once was, or in the words of Alex from "A Clockwork Orange": "I was cured alright".

Still, whatever you think and whatever the ending means, the fact that the film provokes questions in the first place (pertinent questions, not "what the hell did I just watch?") is an accomplishment and proof that Shrader/Scorsese's "Taxi Driver" is more than just a movie.

The soundtrack, if you can get your hands on it, is as good standalone as watching the movie (which is something that can be said for very few movies). Scorsese convinced the legendary Bernard Hermann ("Citizen Kane", "North by Northwest", "Psycho" and "The Twilight Zone" TV theme, plus many more) to score the film, and he died, shortly after the recording was complete. The official soundtrack album has a mix or the original orchestrations from the film, and some jazz riffs on the main theme, plus, and extended "Diary of a Taxi Driver" track with DeNiro's voice over narration from the film. Terrific to listen to as you walk with your iPod, through the rain, on the lonely city streets of the world.  

Star Wars (1977): Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher and Harrison Ford. Written and Directed by George Lucas.

It was mid-June 1977 by the time the new sci-fi fantasy movie, "Star Wars" rolled into the small town where I grew up. I'd seen the TV ads (see video at the bottom of this post) and some Ralph McQuarrie pre-production art in Starlog magazine (bunch of stormtroopers standing around in a hallway). A horror and sci-fi fan from an early age, in 1977 what you had was Saturday morning TV, periodic "Planet of the Apes" marathons at the drive-in, schlock like "The Frogs" and "Empire of the Ants" and mainstream science fiction movies like "Silent Running" and "Future World". I didn't know what to expect from this "Star Wars". More of the same, I suppose.

I was late to the matinee. My mom insisted that I take my sister with me, and she wasn't ready in time. So, by the time I got her popcorn and got settled back in my seat, C-3P0 was saying "This is madness!" What is madness? Did I miss something? Despite being completely lost, only minutes into the film, I enjoyed it as much as any kid growing up in the seventies did. That summer, I expect I saw "Star Wars" at least 30 more times, and then another 10 the next time it rolled through town. I'd not considered it before, but maybe this was why my parents were unable to pay may way through film school.

"Star Wars" changed filmmaking. We all know that. The summer blockbuster was born, and thanks to the studios and George and his friend Steven, we'd have more to look forward to every summer. Now, the big summer movie is a staple, like it or not. Best intentions, I'm sure, from Mr. Lucas, who just wanted to make the kind of movie he wanted to see. But now, over 30 years later, I wonder if he realizes the pressure that's been placed on every other filmmaker in the world to make big bucks?

Yes, the days when you could make a little movie about a lovable loser, starring a promising acting talent and a well-written script have gone for good (although, for a brief glimmer of an instant, "Juno" seemed to prove otherwise). It's all about high concept now — not that Lucas had anything more than "Saturday matinee space movie" in mind — if you don't got that, don't even get started.

My take on "Star Wars" has changed over the years. I love the film, and I've seen all the behind-the-scenes stuff, and read books covering the troubled production. I've also seen the new prequels, and I've carefully noted that Lucas did not direct the two sequels that followed his original film, though his reasons for that are unclear.

I am certain, probably contrary to your average "Star Wars" fan-boy, that Lucas did set out to make "A New Hope" (the redux title for the first "Star Wars" film) very much like his heavily controlled prequels, but he just couldn't do it. He was ahead of his own time. It's common knowledge that the effects for the film weren't ready until the last possible second and were the best they could do given the time they had. It's also widely known that Lucas had problems directing his actors and crew and suffered numerous breakdowns during the UK shoot.

So, I think what happened is everyone (George's friends included) all pitched in to make the best of the situation, Hamill, Fisher and Ford adding humor where they could (something that is sorely absent from the prequel films), Marcia Lucas stepping in to try and shape what footage George had, Steven and Francis (Coppola) offering their own two cents worth. Basically, in the absence of a strong director, the film became a community effort — like the best films are — and it actually worked!

It's a sad realization to come to, but don't get me wrong, Lucas does know film and filmmaking. "American Graffiti" proves this. But I think "Star Wars" got away from him and didn't turn out the way he wanted it to. This explains how each tinkered "revised" version of the film that has come out over the years in various mediums moves away from the original, because the "original" in fans' minds is not the "original" in Lucas' mind. It's bittersweet. For all the pleasure that "Star Wars" gave with repeated viewings and collectible merchandise and sequels (and a holiday special!), it killed so much. As I said, films would be crushed under the weight of money-making blockbusters. Mad Magazine was never the same, and neither was Famous Monsters. Seemed like everyone had to bend what they were doing to fit the "Star Wars" mold and it just didn't work.

In a sense, I guess, "Star Wars" ended the seventies. Or maybe it was just time to grow up.