Across 110th Street

A key title in the blaxploitation genre, Across 110th Street (1972) holds up better than most. It gave a major career boost to Yaphet Kotto, just before his big break in Live and Let Die, and Bobby Womack's iconic title tune has more recently cropped up in Jackie Brown and American Gangster. A bit crude storywise, it retains a kick in its smart casting and subversive edge.

Three small-time hoods steal $300,000 from a coterie of mobsters, killing them and two policemen. Hardnosed Captain Matelli (Anthony Quinn) is reluctantly assigned to join Lieutenant Pope's (Yaphet Kotto) investigation, the two developing a mutual loathing. Meanwhile, the Mafia sends enforcer Nick D'Salvo (Anthony Franciosa) to eliminate the robbers in sadistic fashion. Soon only Jim Harris (Paul Benjamin) remains, and a three-way race between the cops, the mob and black gangsters led by Doc Johnson (Richard Ward) ensues.

Across 110th Street seems a pointed commentary on Hollywood's new wave of crime films. The previous year, Dirty Harry and The French Connection scored big depicting boorish but effective cops. Matelli initially seems in their mould but his brutal methods prove counterproductive. One scene has Doc shame Matelli in front of Pope, revealing the Captain's receipt of bribes. The movie similarly subverts In the Heat of the Night's buddy dynamic, with Pope angrily dismissing Matelli's patronizing attempts at reconciliaton. Only at the end do the cops achieve mutual respect, too late.

But writer Luther Davis really cuts to the quick when exploring racial tensions in Harlem, where blacks, Italians and Hispanics live in uncomfortable proximity. The Italian mob is unapologetically racist, Nick's cruel murders calculated to humiliate Doc's crew. Blacks instinctively distrust the police; seeing Matelli in action who could blame them? In this context, Jim's plight is almost poignant: a career criminal, he can't redeem himself but clings to dreams of a better life. Cornered in the finale, he makes a touching last gesture.

Director Barry Shear makes extensive use of handheld camera work and authentic Harlem locations, giving them movie a docudrama feel. The opening massacre has shades of Sergio Leone (tense close-ups etc.) but most of the film's style is fairly restrained, with minimal use of music or camera tricks. The shootouts are bloody and over-the-top, with Jim firing an infinitely-loaded machine gun, but excitingly staged. The story strands don't quite hang together, focusing on character development with the cops and plot mechanics with the gangsters, but it comes together in the finale, ending on an extremely affecting shot.

Anthony Quinn (who co-produced) gives an unusually low-key performance, believably weathered, gruff and self-loathing. Yaphet Kotto is similarly controlled, his anger a marvelous slow boil until finally bursting towards the end. Paul Benjamin's character is thinly sketched but makes a strong impression. Anthony Franciosa makes a memorable mob creep and the wonderfully gravel-voiced Richard Ward plays an amiable adversary. Look for Antonio Fargas (Starsky & Hutch) as the getaway driver and Burt Young (Once Upon a Time in America) in the opening scene.

Across 110th Street retains considerable power. Its angry nihilism and racial disillusionment are an angry kiss-off to other '70s crime sagas, showing neither liberal reconcilation nor Harry Callahan antics will solve anything.