The Conversation

"I'm not afraid of death, but I am afraid of murder."

The unsung masterpiece of '70s cinema, Francis Ford Coppola's The Conversation (1974) is every bit as accomplished as The Godfather. Coppola seamlessly blends paranoid thriller with incisive character study, anchored by Gene Hackman's incomparable performance.

Harry Caul (Gene Hackman) heads a crack audio surveillance team. They're contracted by the director (Robert Duvall) of a major corporation to spy on a young couple (Cindy Williams and Frederic Forrest). Harry's habitual distance from his work disintegrates after listening to the tapes: it sounds like his subjects fear being murdered. Harry gets no answers from his contractor and no support from his partners; against his better judgment he starts investigating the case.

At first glance, The Conversation fits neatly alongside Nixon-era thrillers like All the President's Men. But Coppola makes few references to contemporary events: one character mentions bugging presidential candidates, while Harry watches a news report on Watergate. Coppola's concerned with paranoia of a more visceral sort: individuals using technology to pry into others' lives. Let's face it: Web cams, Facebook and data mining make privacy obsolete. Who cares about NSA info gathering when anyone with a laptop can access your personal history?

The Conversation closely resembles Blowup with shades of Rear Window: the protagonist thinks he witnesses a murder, but can never prove his suspicions. Like David Hemmings in the Antonioni film, Harry's limited by both the technology employed and his own perception. He plays the tapes endlessly until he deciphers a cryptic message. The suspicious actions of the Director's assistant (Harrison Ford) fuel rather than dissuade his interest. Yet is he really hearing what he thinks? Harry only places himself in danger by prying.

Coppola delivers a film comfortably experimental in a way modern Hollywood scarcely tolerates. The opening long shot of San Francisco's Union Square accompanied by electronic buzzing sets the tone; when we first see Harry's crew they're arranged like snipers. Coppola films mostly in long and medium shot, allowing the viewer to share Harry's uncertainty. And how about that ghoulish shot of blood gushing from a toilet? Walter Murch's sound design plays an integral role, whether Harry's rewinding tapes and focused noise or letting his nightmares bleed into reality. It's hauntingly accompanied by David Shire's minimalist piano score.

But The Conversation also shows a palpable portrait of loneliness. Unattractive, poorly dressed and introverted, Harry lives in a tiny apartment, finding solace only in jazz and Catholicism. His unwillingness to connect with people drives away his partner Stan (John Cazale). There's no Grace Kelly to spur his quest, only a sad girlfriend (Teri Garr) who doesn't know his birthday. He's thoroughly uncomfortable at a buggers' convention and its pathetic after-party. Nor does he enjoy his work: he's hounded by competitors like Bernie (Allen Garfield) and guilt-ridden over a job resulting in murder. He's not content to remain a voyeur, but his imperfect understanding seems to make things worse.

Gene Hackman never had the attractive charisma of contemporaries like Dustin Hoffman and Al Pacino, yet his gruff, low-key style landed him diverse roles: Bonnie & Clyde, The French Connection, even Young Frankenstein. He portrays Harry Caul masterfully, hiding the character's isolation and self-loathing beneath an impassive exterior, revealing his backstory only in a dream sequence. Anyone who habitually spends their Saturday nights alone (raises hand) can empathize with Harry's plight, even in its extreme incarnations. This isn't only Hackman's best work, but among the finest performances in screen history.

John Cazale adds another pitiable sad sack to his resume. Stan worships Harry, endlessly talking him up to strangers, yet even he grows tired of his partner's coldness. Young Harrison Ford makes a strong impression as a shifty villain. Allen Garfield (The Stunt Man) steals his scenes as Harry's snotty competitor; Teri Garr and Elizabeth McRae provide a sympathetic female presence. Frederic Forrest's small but pivotal role presages appearances in Coppola's Apocalypse Now and One from the Heart. Robert Duvall appears unbilled.

If The Conversation lacks the commercial hook of The Godfather or the wild surrealism of Apocalypse Now, it's still one of Francis Ford Coppola's greatest achievements. It culminates in Harry destroying his apartment looking for a bug, then collapsing, exhausted, playing his sax amidst the wreckage. Never has isolation felt so poignant, paranoia so frightfully raw.