Across 110th Street (1972)

          This gritty crime picture crams a dizzying number of characters, storylines, and themes into 102 frenetic minutes. Ostensibly a police thriller about two mismatched detectives investigating a Mafia-related shooting in Harlem, the racially charged movie also devotes considerable screen time to infighting among criminals. Based on a novel by Wally Ferris and written for the screen by Luther Davis, the film does a great job of taking viewers inside the minds of hoodlums, thereby conveying a morally gray picture of life in the big city. However, because the detectives are the lead characters, the potential impact of this humanistic approach to criminality is dulled—it’s hard for viewers to know whether they’re being asked to root for the heroes, the villains, both, or neither. In short, Across 110th Street has great texture but lacks a clear point of view.

          When the movie begins, black street crooks deliver a cash payoff to white Mafia lieutenants in a dingy Harlem apartment. Then uniformed police offers “raid” the apartment—but it turns out the cops are robbers in disguise. The theft goes smoothly until a crook reaches for a gun, at which point the lead robber, Jim Harris (Paul Benjamin), gets trigger-happy. Jim and his two partners, Joe (Ed Bernard) and Henry (Antonio Fargas), escape with the Mafia’s cash, leaving a pile of bodies behind.

          Two factions respond to the incident. The first is the Mob, represented by Nick D’Salvo (Anthony Franciosa), a godfather-in-waiting who’s reached middle age without proving himself; Nick becomes obsessed with killing the robbers in order elevate his standing. Also responding is the NYPD, specifically a veteran white cop named Capt. Mattelli (Anthony Quinn) and a younger black cop named Lt. Pope (Yaphet Kotto). Mattelli wants to handle the investigation his usual way (abuse informants until secrets are spilled), but Pope—who is given jurisdiction over the case for political reasons—wants to exercise post-Miranda Act restraint.

          The most interesting material in this overstuffed movie concerns the disintegrating relationships between the robbers, who react in varied ways as pressure mounts for their capture. Benjamin commands the movie with a jittery, raging performance as a black man robbed of life choices by hard circumstance, so whenever he’s onscreen, the movie sizzles. And even when the storyline meanders, director Barry Shear and cinematographer Jack Priestley create a vivid sense of place with the use of grungy locations and verité-style shooting on New York streets. Across 110th Street is a mess, but it’s an interesting mess.

Across 110th Street: FUNKY

Truck Turner (1974)

          Blaxploitation flicks came in so many flavors that fans of the genre can have many favorites—best martial-arts adventure, best Pam Grier joint, best Fred Williamson thriller, best installment of Shaft, and so on. Therefore, when I say that Truck Turner is my overall favorite blaxploitation picture, what I really mean is that the movie’s 91 slam-bam-stick-it-to-the-man minutes encapsulate every tacky, wonderful thing I dig about blaxploitation. Other movies in the genre have better moments, and other movies in the genre have better stories, but Truck Turner’s got enough action, murder, pimps, urban fashion, and vituperative vulgarity to make other blaxploitation pictures look wimpy by comparison. Isaac Hayes, of all people, stars as Truck Turner—excuse me, Mack Truck Turner—a pistol-packin’ bounty hunter on the trail of a pimp named Harvard Blue who skipped bail. If that synopsis doesn’t get your blood pumping, read no further. But if you’re catchin’ what I’m sendin’ your way, man, then let’s rap a while about this groovy jam.
          Hayes, the deep-voiced soul/funk musician who previously earned his blaxploitation bona fides with his Oscar-winning tune “Theme from Shaft,” made an easy transition to acting with Truck Turner. Even though he’s not the most persuasive thespian—in fact, his line deliveries range from phony to silly—he’s got such a strong natural presence, and such panache for investing dialogue with badass swagger, that his lack of real acting ability isn’t a hindrance. Simply put, the dude is cool. So, as the movie progresses, and as Turner’s pimpquest turns deadly, it’s tremendous fun to watch Hayes ice bad men and seduce good ladies.
          Director Jonathan Kaplan, who was slowly working his way up the American International Pictures exploitation-movie food chain, exhibits a slick touch with action scenes and urban culture—Truck Turner is a cartoon, but it’s lively as hell. For instance, where else can viewers see Nichelle Nichols, better known as Lt. Uhura from the original Star Trek series, playing a tough madam? (Here’s Nichols describing her ladies: “These are all prime cut--$238,000 worth of dynamite. It’s Fort Knox in panties.”) And where else can viewers see Hayes square off with the powerful Yaphet Kotto, who plays Harvard Blue? Because, ultimately, Truck Turner is all about Hayes striking don’t-mess-with-this-motherfucker poses—he’s at his best when stripped to the waist, wearing just jeans and a shoulder holster, while blowing away hired killers with his cannon-sized .44 Magnum. Unsurprisingly, Hayes also provided the soundtrack for the movie, and his song titles give a good flavor of the movie’s down-and-dirty appeal: “Pursuit of the Pimpmoble,” “A House Full of Girls,” “Give It to Me,” and the extra-succinct “Drinking.”

Truck Turner: GROOVY

Report to the Commissioner (1975)

          Back in my college days, when I lived in Manhattan, I was friendly with an NYPD homicide detective who was also a movie buff, and he hipped me to this little-seen drama, praising it as one of the most accurate depictions he’d ever seen about how ugly the gamesmanship within a police force can get. And, indeed, even though Report to the Commissioner is fictional—it’s based on a novel by James Mills—the picture radiates authenticity. Extensive location photography captures the dirty heat of summertime New York City; intense performances burst with streetwise attitude; and the vicious storyline is driven by cynicism, duplicity, and politics. Told in flashback following some sort of terrible clusterfuck of a shootout at Saks Fifth Avenue, the picture reveals how an ambitious undercover detective and a rookie investigator cross paths, with tragic results.

          Michael Moriarty, appearing near the beginning of his long career, stars as hapless Detective Bo Lockley, a newcomer to the NYPD investigative squad who gets paired with a seen-it-all partner, African-American Richard “Crunch” Blackstone (Yaphet Kott0). In a telling early sequence, Lockley watches Blackstone lean on black suspects, even going so far as to spew racial epithets, which clues Lockley into the level of moral compromise required of NYPD lifers. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Lockley, undercover narcotics cop Patty Butler (Susan Blakley), a pretty blonde WASP who uses her looks to undercut suspicions that she’s a police officer, gets a lead on a well-connected dealer named Thomas “Stick” Henderson (Tony King). Smelling an opportunity for a high-profile bust that will help his career, Butler’s commanding officer, Captain D’Angelo (Hector Elizondo), approves a dangerous plan for spying on Stick. Soon afterward, Lockley gets pulled into the situation—without being given crucial information—and things go to hell. The movie climaxes with a tense hostage situation inside Saks, during which high-ranking cops put more energy into covering their asses than saving innocent victims.

          This is dark stuff, making Report to the Commissioner a fine companion piece to Sidney Lumet’s various ’70s pictures about cops and criminals in New York City. And while Report to the Commissioner is far from perfect—the script meanders into subplots and some of the characters could have been consolidated for the purpose of clarity—the movie has myriad virtues. The atmosphere sizzles, with cinematographer Mario Tosi using haze filters and wide lenses to depict grungy exteriors and sweaty interiors. Director Milton Katselas, best known as an acting teacher, demonstrates a real gift for integrating actors into spaces and thereby creating verisimilitude. Best of all, though, are the film’s potent performances. Blakely’s sharp in a smallish role, King is physically and verbally impressive, and Moriarty’s weirdly twitchy energy is compelling. Furthermore, it’s hard to beat the roster of eclectic supporting players—beyond Elizondo and Kotto, the picture features Bob Balaban, William Devane, Dana Elcar, Richard Gere (in his first film role), and Vic Tayback. (Available as part of the MGM Limited Collection on Amazon.com)

Report to the Commissioner: RIGHT ON

Blue Collar (1978)

          After making his name with the incendiary screenplay for Taxi Driver(1974), Paul Schrader capitalized on his Hollywood heat by setting up his directorial debut, Blue Collar. (Schrader co-wrote the script with his brother, Leonard, from source material by Sydney A. Glass.) A tough morality play about corruption worming its way through an auto company and the labor union supposedly protecting the company’s workers, Blue Collar echoes the 1954 classic On the Waterfront, but it has an unmistakably ’70s patina of drugs, racial tension, sex, and vulgarity.

          The story follows three friends whose frustration with their working conditions at an auto plant reaches a boiling point when they realize their disreputable union reps are making side deals with management. The trio breaks into the union office, hoping to steal several thousand dollars they believe is hidden there, but all they get is petty cash. And that’s when the story gets really interesting: Union officials claim tens of thousands of dollars were stolen, setting an insurance-settlement scam in motion, so the workers-turned-thieves realize they have an opportunity to blackmail their oppressors. How this bold maneuver affects the three men leads to a climax of unusual complexity and intensity.

          Considering this was his first movie, Schrader is remarkably assured behind the camera, using a classical camera style that’s neither showy nor timid; abetted by cinematographer Bobby Byrne, Schrader gives the picture a look as gritty as the assembly line on which the main characters labor every day. The blues-inflected soundtrack, including original music by the great Jack Nitzsche, suits the material perfectly, and in fact the whole movie feels like a raw soul record come to life: When characters sit around a local dive, swigging beer and bitching about their troubles, Blue Collar offers a window into a secret world.

          Yet Schrader’s two-fisted storytelling would be for naught if the movie lacked powerhouse performances, and, luckily, the three leads deliver. Yaphet Kotto, working his singular mix of blazing anger and world-weary sarcasm, is compelling in every scene. Harvey Keitel, slickly translating his Noo Yawk edge to a volatile Midwestern vibe, is equally potent as the conscience of the group. And Richard Pryor is explosive, leaving any idea that he’s merely a funnyman in the dust. Never this good in a movie before or afterward, he channels deep veins of indignation and resentment into an unforgettable characterization. (Available as part of the Universal Vault Series on Amazon.com)

Blue Collar: RIGHT ON