Bullitt

1968. Plays out like a classic one-hour cop show (say Mannix or Starsky and Hutch but more violent and sexy) but there’s a terrific little scene with Steve McQueen and Jacqueline Bisset in bed, in the morning, woken by a phone call. “Who was it?” she asks. “Del” he replies, referring to buddy/fellow cop Delgado. But he won’t tell her what it was about, the ugliness that is his line of work and that she will complain about later. But here, she accepts his not telling, and they kiss, and start making out, really making out – it feels real. That “just woke up together and start making love again” thang. Yes, I remember once, with a sweet girl I knew from college, in an old empty house on a weekday, calling in sick to work…

And then there’s the car chase, McQueen clearly doing much of the driving. And it’s a good car chase, starting with the buckling of a seat belt in close-up that is a great touch, funny and grim at the same time. And the cars go flying through the air, hubcaps springing off in all directions, the audience watching at the MOMA oohing and aahing and actually applauding when the bad guys lose – but it’s a gruesome loss, the car engulfed in flames, one body flailing horribly. But that’s this director’s (Peter Yates; Krull, The Deep, Breaking Away) style: heavy-handed. Not unpleasant, but heavy, grim, pointed.

Here the result is a muscular film that does not become overly-macho. But some odd choices here and there, such as a short, dialogue-free scene where we find McQueen and Bissett on a date at a nightclub, she looking over at the (jazz) band, he appearing to frown at her, then lighten up. What the hell was that about? Did he think she was flirting? Weird.

In any event, an exciting film that becomes communal on a big screen with an audience.