The Conversation (1974)

Some movies that I’ve seen several times actually affect me more and more with subsequent viewings as I get older. This is the case with Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation (1974). As someone who adores the audio editing process, it would make sense that the character of Harry Caul speaks to me directly. I identify with a lot of his obsessions. But the film itself is more than just a minimalist character study of isolation and paranoia in the age of Watergate, it becomes about how a career can slowly take away your humanity if you’re not careful. In return, you might even begin to perceive reality in a way that makes you less functional and potentially more delusional.

Gene Hackman always reminded me of my dad. You can imagine my response to The Royal Tenenbaums since I saw that movie about two months after he passed away at age 52 from cancer. Maybe they had similar foreheads but I also think it comes down to the fact that my dad loved to tinker with things like electronics in the family garage. I almost think my own obsessions with film, podcasts and technology to a degree are a direct extension of his interest in computers and electronics at a time when they were still coming into fruition. We received one of the first Commodore 64 models through a connection he made at his job. He started out climbing telephone polls and doing repair work at Illinois Bell. He had so many tools and gadgets it was hard to keep track of them all. Watching this movie is like getting a chance to spend time with an unhinged version of my favorite person I’ve ever known.

Whenever I go back to The Conversation, there is this uncanny hybrid between me and my father that haunts me in a way that also manages to be strangely comforting. The character of Harry Caul definitely loves to tinker with audio and electronics plus he is often quite reserved and socially awkward. I definitely wouldn’t say my dad falls into the category of socially awkward but most of the time, he was quiet and occupied with his interests. My first viewing of this when I was younger involved my dad and I watching it on Betamax. Apocalypse Now was actually his favorite film of all time. I vividly remember telling my dad, “I think I like The Conversation even more,” which is still true.

Starting Friday, January 28th, The Music Box Theatre is showing a brand new restored 35mm print of this stunning work of art. It has to be seen on the big screen at least once in your lifetime to really comprehend what it does to the senses, particularly with sound design. It even plays with cognition in ways that even psychology professors would love to point out in class. Notice the slight change in inflection between the line “He'll kill us if he had the chance” early in the film versus the way it’s said later in the film. That’s the moment where I truly think Coppola was working on a deeper level of not only deconstructing the way Harry Caul perceives his reality, but the way we experience the act of watching a movie. Reminds me of a line that a character named Whistler delivers in the film SNEAKERS (another brilliant film about surveillance that I adore), he says at one point: “Don’t look… listen.”

When you go to see this movie again and you should, you will experience one of the best, most subtle acting performances ever. Hackman’s performance is the catalyst that moves this entire film. We are with him throughout. It is through Harry that we understand the job, the dangers and the paranoia he faces. He is a very quiet, methodical, cautious, with tendencies to overthink. His fear of intimacy, of getting too close to anyone or saying too much about himself, ruins the relationship with his girlfriend. We see later in the film why Harry never lets his guard down. It seems that the few moments he does, it always comes back to bite him since no one after all can be trusted. But Hackman lets Harry’s soft side show just enough in those moments that the viewer can connect, be on his side and then feel that sting of broken trust with him. That is a rare and amazing relationship to have with a character who keeps everyone at a distance. It’s the perfect showcase of “show don’t tell” acting that really feels special to witness. He doesn’t need to scream or yell or give lengthy monologues, he just needs to react in the moment to what’s taking place without grand gestures. There are reasons why he may not be as expressive as other characters. It’s clear he has some trauma in the past that he doesn’t want to repeat as well and a dream sequence in particular looks like something out of Let’s Scare Jessica To Death. I actually still jump at a moment late in the film that takes place in a hotel room.

The Conversation is shot-for-shot, beat-for-beat perfect filmmaking that also moves me on a personal level even in its final moments where it’s clear that Harry is going to be alone forever because his mental state is too delicate to let others in. At one point he leaves a shot, and the camera follows him, when it becomes clear that he's not returning to the frame, but then Harry leaves again, when the camera once again finds him. Heck, even the camera itself mimics what a surveillance camera does and not just in the final scene. Coppola brought so many surprises to nearly every choice (the opening alone is an all-timer) but one image in particular will forever stay with me (see above). Harry is lying in bed while a woman is undressing nearby. Right on the corner of the frame is the image of a spinning reel-to-reel almost intruding in. It’s clear that Harry will never be able to walk away from his work because it’s a part of his psyche. It will even take control of his subconscious. He is a man that’s mostly driven by anxiety and uncovering the truth. After all, that’s what surveillance is all about: capturing a cruel reality for whomever is willing to pay for it. (In this case, an uncredited Robert Duvall). 

Maybe that very final moment isn’t as sad or bleak as I once thought, because he almost has experienced some kind of acceptance and resolution that he will always be paranoid or watched after and there’s nothing he can do to change this even after tearing his home apart. He still has his saxophone to express what’s going on within. He can connect with the sound of music and just play for whomever might have bugged him. There’s no escaping the past or his profession but maybe instead of thinking that’s awful or scary, perhaps it was always inevitable and Harry recognizes that in the end. No words need to be said, especially while alone. After all these years, The Conversation still has many secrets to tell us and all we have to do is listen in. Like a lot of movies, I wish I could have watched this with my dad again and have had a deeper conversation about it. But maybe he is still listening or at least knows I’m thinking of him.