Gene Hackman gives a typically fine and compelling performance as Harry Moseby, a former pro football player turned brusque and scruffy private detective who takes on the deceptively simple case of finding the brash and alluring 16-year-old runaway nymphet daughter (a very young and enticing Melanie Griffith in her first substantial film role) of a boozy, faded erstwhile actress (superbly played to bitchy perfection by Janet Ward). During his investigation Harry stumbles across several murders, an art smuggling operation in the Florida Keys, and a few bitter and ugly truths about both himself and his sordid profession.
Director Arthur Penn, working from a brilliantly incisive script by Alan Sharp, astutely pegs the bummed-out malaise and sense of utter pessimism which defined the cynical post-Watergate mid 70's zeitgeist. One of this bleak film noir mystery thriller's key strengths is its laudably stubborn refusal to either sanitize or romanticize Harry's sleazy profession (having a lot of people mercilessly poke fun of Harry's job is an especially nice touch). WARNING: Possible *SPOILER* ahead. Moreover, the strikingly grim and haunting conclusion is quite potent and simply devastating: Harry does solve the convoluted case, but crucially fails to save anyone and comes to the grim realization that his whole life has been one big sham (as ingeniously symbolized by the boat Harry's on at the end going around in constant redundant circles just like Harry's been doing throughout his entire existence). The stand-out supporting cast includes Susan Clark as Harry's fed-up adulteress wife, Harris Yulin as Clark's crippled lover (the confrontation scene between Yulin and Harry is a corker), Edward Binns as an amiable stunt coordinator, Jennifer Warren as a cheery free spirit, John Crawford as Griffith's hearty stepfather, and James Woods as a weaselly mechanic. Bruce Surtees' bright, sunny cinematography, Michael Small's brooding, funky, syncopated score, and Dede Allen's snappy editing are all up to par on-target as well. An absolute knockout.
Director Arthur Penn, working from a brilliantly incisive script by Alan Sharp, astutely pegs the bummed-out malaise and sense of utter pessimism which defined the cynical post-Watergate mid 70's zeitgeist. One of this bleak film noir mystery thriller's key strengths is its laudably stubborn refusal to either sanitize or romanticize Harry's sleazy profession (having a lot of people mercilessly poke fun of Harry's job is an especially nice touch). WARNING: Possible *SPOILER* ahead. Moreover, the strikingly grim and haunting conclusion is quite potent and simply devastating: Harry does solve the convoluted case, but crucially fails to save anyone and comes to the grim realization that his whole life has been one big sham (as ingeniously symbolized by the boat Harry's on at the end going around in constant redundant circles just like Harry's been doing throughout his entire existence). The stand-out supporting cast includes Susan Clark as Harry's fed-up adulteress wife, Harris Yulin as Clark's crippled lover (the confrontation scene between Yulin and Harry is a corker), Edward Binns as an amiable stunt coordinator, Jennifer Warren as a cheery free spirit, John Crawford as Griffith's hearty stepfather, and James Woods as a weaselly mechanic. Bruce Surtees' bright, sunny cinematography, Michael Small's brooding, funky, syncopated score, and Dede Allen's snappy editing are all up to par on-target as well. An absolute knockout.