Sometimes, when going through a service like the Criterion Channel, there are lessons to be learned (when it comes to your movie watching). And this is a great joy, as many of us are stuck in our ways and have our own unwritten rules about cinema. However, I guarantee you that for every single trope, stylistic choice, or “mistake” that you despise or have been told should never happen, has an exception that proves that rule. There are movies that break the mold and use these accepted errors to great affect. As a prime example, one movie that is sadly leaving the streaming service at the end of this month is Alan J. Pakula’s Klute.
Although Pakula is probably better known for the political intrigue classic All The President’s Men, this film deserves attention, as well. For those not in the know, Klute follows a sometimes call girl, Bree Daniels (Jane Fonda, in perhaps her best performance) after a man disappears following the sending of obscene letters to her. This puts private detective John Klute (Donald Sutherland) in her path to find out the not so simple truth.
I could go on and on, as I have in previous columns, about the ways in which this film subverts genre; as it is a mystery, a character study, and a romance. But I became much more interested in Fonda’s portrayal and how Pakula takes advantage of this, both visually and narratively. Now, a fair amount of credit for the visual style should go to cinematographer Gordon Willis, affectionately known as “The Prince of Darkness.” I can think of a fair amount of cinematographers who could take lessons from him regarding how to use gradations of black to their advantage. Additionally, in the mystery/thriller component, Pakula takes advantage of silence like few other directors have managed. It is so masterful, that the very normal sound of a phone ringing is liable to make you jump in your seat.
But back to literally the star of the show. Fonda, despite coming off of a stunning performance in They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?, was probably most well known for Barbarella. Additionally, she was just coming in to her own as an out and proud feminist and had concerns about portraying a sex worker and how that would fit in with her own beliefs. And regardless of whether it is the writing, direction, or purely her decision making as an actor, Fonda grips this role and wrings fantastic work from it. A lot has been made of her introduction, involving having sex with a client and faking her orgasms, all white eyeing her watch from behind his head. And for good reason! Especially for 1971, this simple choice is downright revolutionary. Despite the romantic angle later in the film, she point blank tells Klute that she never has an orgasm with a “john.” She also details the amount of control that the performance of sex gives her, but she doesn’t tell this directly to Klute. And this brings us to the rule breaking notion of Klute.
Anyone who has watched their fair share of movies has heard the phrase “Show, don’t tell.” In general, I agree with this notion. It is usually tedious to hear characters discuss things that feel unnatural, rather than processing this through actions and realistic dialogue. But again, there are exceptions. Bree is, by necessity, a private person. Practically everything she does in her life as a call girl is pure performance. And it should be noted that her dream profession is that of an actress. This is, of course, no coincidence, as both of these roles play to her strengths. But that leaves us distant from her, which is a problem. The name of the film is a bit of a misdirect. In some ways, John Klute drives some action, but Bree really is the protagonist. So how do we reach her?
The film offers a deceptively simple solution. Bree is in therapy, and from time to time we are privy to these conversations, which offer a great deal of depth. The therapist rarely speaks, so it is nearly unfiltered Bree. The audience is never given much of a backstory on our protagonist, and yet, through these relatively short glimpses, we know her better than most. The duality of Bree becomes evident, especially when discussing the beginnings of her possible relationship with Klute. Fonda states both assurity that Klute cares about her and that she becomes noticeably angry when she is treated well by him. Given the life she is leading, it is understandable, but not an easy thing to portray, particularly only through voiceover. She mostly refuses to show him this anger, except in the presence of her pimp, Frank (Roy Scheider).
But the line reading that sticks with me most is the following. “What I would really like to do is be faceless and bodiless. And be left alone.” I cannot imagine a more powerful piece of dialogue for a character like Bree. The world stares at her. She performs in nearly every public aspect of her life. And yet, or maybe because of this, her greatest desire could be to not be seen. Imagine the pressure that would be relieved if she could simply live without that judgment, that lack of power. Despite the fact that Klute cares for her, he is a part of that world. Yes, Klute is with her at the end of the film, but there is no surety that this relationship will continue. The ending is purposefully ambiguous, but I have hard time believing that this is a relationship that will have a standard, ride off into the sunset kind of finish. They have both challenged each other’s notions of love, but that could truly be the point. Sometimes, it is enough to be changed for the better and move on.
In cinema, thankfully, there are no absolutes and no easy answers. Sure, there are generalities but a great film, especially with a transcendent performance, can take those rules and tear them into a million pieces. For viewers who think they have a handle on Pakula as a filmmaker or Fonda as an actress and haven’t seen Klute, this is an absolute must-watch. And frankly, anyone who wants a great example of 1970’s possible paranoia, Klute should be a priority to see before it leaves the service at the end of the month.
We will back in a few weeks with Lucrecia Martel’s Zama!
