Serpico

Sidney Lumet's best work (12 Angry Men, Dog Day Afternoon) addresses topical issues sans the obnoxious preachments that mar so many "significant" films. Serpico (1973) is a case in point: a powerful depiction of police corruption, it sublimates any grandstanding to a compelling story.

Newly-minted New York cop Frank Serpico (Al Pacino) finds life on the force rough. From his unkempt whiskers to his love of ballet, Serpico is a decidedly unconventional cop - even more so when he's shocked that his colleagues extort and skim money from criminals. At first Serpico turns a blind eye, seeking reassignment to a clean section, but finds every precinct honeycombed with corruption. With the help of a Mayor's aide (Tony Roberts) and an honest cop (Edward Grover) Serpico reports his findings, but his image-minded superiors are reluctant to pursue it. Serpico's peers soon discover his game, and arrange a nasty surprise for him.

Serpico is an extremely angry film, calling out the NYPD's institutional corrutpion. One of Frank's first experiences is seeing his partner beat a rape suspect to a bloody pulp, and it goes downhill from there. Every department has its own con going, reasoning their larceny "won't hurt anyone." The higher-ups, whether through incompetence, complicity or simple face-saving, drag their feet in addressing the issue. Frank's colleagues openly threaten him and take credit for his arrests, even trying to frame him for sodomy. The most pointed scene has several officers getting chummy with a hustler (and cop killer) Frank just arrested.

"Message films" are hard to pull off; it's tricky to make a point without being preachy or sacrificing entertainment value. Lumet keeps the anger at a low boil, sparing the audience any on-the-nose homilies. There are no easy villains to tear down: all the cops are complicit, the rackets a self-perpetuating, universally accepted part of police life. We want Frank to triumph, but it hardly seems worth the effort. Even if Serpico succeeds, his career is ruined and the big fish will likely escape justice.

Lumet's direction is typically strong, mixing some directoral flair (the chaotic opening especially) with docudrama grittiness. Lumet uses Serpico's ever-growing facial hair and pet dog as clever ellipses for gaps in the story, and screenwriter Howard Wexman's dialogue, character interactions and plot development ring absolutely true. The fine music comes from Mikis Theodarkis, who'd previously scored the similarly subversive Z.

Al Pacino hit paydirt with The Godfather a year before, and he's no less impressive here. His Frank Serpico is a truly unique creation, a rough-hewn cop who mixes street smarts with intellectual pursuits. Despite his hippie appearance he's the department's straightest arrow, and possibly the only one interested in justice. Pacino nails his cultivated eccentricities, fierce individuality and righteous anger with remarkable panache.

Barbara Eda-Young and Cornelia Sharpe are effective as the women in Serpico's life. Tony Roberts (The Taking of Pelham 1,2,3) is excellent as Serpico's friend in a high place, perhaps too eager to help. Jack Kehoe (The Untouchables), Judd Hirsch (TV's Taxi) and M. Emmett Walsh (Blade Runner), among others, play crooked cops; John Randolph and Biff McGuire are lugubrious bureaucrats; F. Murray Abraham (Amadeus) helps set Serpico up.

Serpico proves yet again the '70s (almost) had the monopoly on great crime films. Mixing perfect dramaturgy with measured polemics, it's remarkably effective.