Cruising - 1980
I suppose one may begrudge me for saying so, but this is one of my favorite Al Pacino performances. I'll confess, I do have a certain affection for the Pacino freak out, the wild gesticulating and yelling figure that became a near caricature of himself as the decades passed. (I'm one, for instance, who will still ride for most of Scent of a Woman). But, the quieter, more studied and muted touches he employs in the beginning is simply great.
Cruising is no exception to this early trend. Many will probably pigeonhole this picture as a kind of exploitation serial killer flick which is inundated with a certain subculture in the darker, more leather-bound corners of the city. They wouldn't be all the way wrong. But running alongside this granular picture of things that go bump in the night is a character study which is, in some ways, better than it has any right to be.
Pacino's Steve Burns, the undercover cop thrust into this seedy underbelly, is coming unwound as the runtime progresses. He grows more tortured with each encounter on the street and in the S&M clubs. Now, a better film would have found ways to draw this out. To really underscore his transformation from a contented heterosexual man living with Karen Allen's character, to a tormented soul losing himself in the disguise and perhaps growing alarmed at his own desire and connection to it. Even so, we identify well enough with Burns to feel the requisite shock of Friedkin's deliciously ambiguous conclusion.
Speaking of the devil, it does become apparent that this is a Friedkin picture in the course of its viewing. He may have moved the streetlevel drama into the backrooms of gay clubs abounding with bare male asscheeks and leather, but Cruisingdoes have many of the same cop drama rhythms of his other work around the time. This one is just like a nastier, seamier red-headed stepchild of French Connection and To Live and Die in L.A..
I'll be clear - I don't think this one is nearly as good as those fine works. But Friedkin's methodology is an interesting one. He's obsessed with details and a documentary-like presentation of characters, facts, and scenes. (Even The Exorcist plays almost TOO real in moments). It seems he was put on to this project in the first place after reading many articles about a real serial killer snatching victims from this gay subculture in a city. When asked to direct, he dressed up himself and went into the clubs downtown. Like I said, docudrama is one of his go to "moves."
And maybe that's what ultimately undoes this fascinating picture, namely a little too much seasoning in the sauce. A genre mashup of slasher flicks aspects, character study sequences, and subcultural shock and awe, all in a documentary-esque presentation. Friedkin certainly found a way to press on hot buttons in his day. (Discerning viewers will note, for example, all the dubbing of lines that became necessary due to all the vociferous protesting just outside the film's set during shooting). The man knew how to find provocative material. Would that he had pieced it all together into a more cohesive whole on this go round.
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