How The French Connection reinvented the… | Little White Lies

In Praise Of

How The French Con­nec­tion rein­vent­ed the Hol­ly­wood cop movie

07 Oct 2021

Words by Jarek Kupść

Crowd of men in suits and hats on a city street, with a man in the foreground wearing a hat and coat.
Crowd of men in suits and hats on a city street, with a man in the foreground wearing a hat and coat.
Gene Hack­man mani­a­cal­ly nav­i­gates New York’s crime world in William Friedkin’s endur­ing procedural.

What kind of a man does it take to crack the biggest hero­in smug­gling oper­a­tion in New York? The French Con­nec­tion wastes no time in estab­lish­ing its pro­tag­o­nist as a flawed and vio­lent­ly obses­sive cop who bends every rule in the book. Pop­eye” Doyle is an equal oppor­tu­ni­ty big­ot with a tem­per to match. Off duty, he likes his drinks dou­ble and his sex kinky.

It was a risky deci­sion to anchor a big action film on such an unsavoury char­ac­ter and to take a chance with an untest­ed lead­ing man. But the gam­ble paid off. Doyle’s faults and his mani­a­cal dri­ve, so thrilling­ly deliv­ered by Gene Hack­man in his first star­ring role, cer­ti­fy him as a per­fect guide to the flip side of the Amer­i­can Dream. Nev­er trust any­one” is his pro­fessed motto.

A lot has hap­pened in the coun­try since the real-life French Con­nec­tion” hero­in bust of the ear­ly 60s. By 1971, drug use in the Unit­ed States is reach­ing epi­dem­ic pro­por­tions. The nar­cotics mar­ket is wide open, with New York Har­bor being the chief entry point for Euro­pean deal­ers. Pres­i­dent Nixon pro­claims war on drugs while mak­ing ene­my lists. The shad­ow of Mỹ Lai mas­sacre is loom­ing large over the Viet­nam War fias­co. Trust in author­i­ty has erod­ed. Para­noia creeps in.

The lev­el of unhinged authen­tic­i­ty dis­played in The French Con­nec­tion hasn’t been seen in Hol­ly­wood before. Tak­ing hints from Cos­ta-Gavras’ polit­i­cal thriller Z, direc­tor William Fried­kin cap­tures the action with a most­ly hand-held cam­era. The ciné­ma vérité imme­di­a­cy of the film is enhanced by real loca­tions, ren­dered with­out a hint of glam­our by cin­e­matog­ra­ph­er Owen Roiz­man. The aus­tere back­drop of New York is bru­tal­ly effec­tive – the streets are grimy, the noise over­whelm­ing, and the weath­er foul. Bums, drug addicts, and minor­i­ty gangs linger in the cor­ner of near­ly every frame of the picture.

By con­trast, the ancil­lary Mar­seille scenes feel almost idyl­lic. For a crime film, The French Con­nec­tion serves up its pro­ce­dur­al shot with a chas­er of harsh social cri­tique. The pun­gent, tac­tile qual­i­ty of the film set a dis­tinct tone for New Hollywood’s urban dra­ma of the incip­i­ent decade. Before long, Travis Bick­le would step out of his taxi­cab to wash the scum off the streets.

Hackman’s Doyle was based on the real-life detec­tive Eddie Pop­eye” Egan, whose exploits (with part­ner Son­ny Grosso) are drama­tised in the film. Up to that point, the Hol­ly­wood cop hero was a trope – a stylised con­cept that fit the noir mould. Sure he was vio­lent at times and always a cyn­ic, but he appeared more as a chiaroscuro con­struct rather than in the flesh. Hack­man changed all that. Doyle is a mad bull­dog who feeds off the city around him – for ener­gy as well as for guid­ance. This sym­bi­ot­ic rela­tion­ship blos­soms in the most excit­ing vehic­u­lar chase in film history.

In his pursuit of justice, Doyle is a case study of compulsive desire – constantly chasing after somebody, or something, with bipartisan carnage left in his wake.

In Bul­litt, Steve McQueen takes us on a 10-minute roller­coast­er ride around San Fran­cis­co. The film is ter­rif­ic, but the famous­ly dynam­ic car duel feels a bit tacked on for effect. In The French Con­nec­tion, by the time its sig­na­ture car-ver­sus-train chase is over, bystanders have been shot, mul­ti­ple vehi­cles crashed, and a sub­way derailed. From the sniper assas­sin to the ter­rorised cit­i­zens on a run­away train, this is Amer­i­ca on a col­li­sion course with itself. Chan­nelling Eisenstein’s Potemkin, the sequence is pure cin­e­ma of adren­a­lin-dri­ven attrac­tions – and a sly polit­i­cal com­ment on a coun­try in turmoil.

In his pur­suit of jus­tice, Doyle is a case study of com­pul­sive desire – con­stant­ly chas­ing after some­body, or some­thing, with bipar­ti­san car­nage left in his wake. The whale-sized hero­in ship­ment is always just out of his reach, and so is the bad guy. Under­stand­ably, Pop­eye” gets fre­quent­ly mad – his nick­name should have been Ahab”.

When the final pur­suit proves futile, the detec­tive con­tin­ues to fire his gun at shad­ows. The sheer momen­tum of denial pro­pels Doyle’s body into dark­ness, but his eyes con­vey an entire­ly dif­fer­ent feel­ing – that of inter­nal defeat. Ulti­mate­ly, the hero blends in with the decay­ing fac­to­ry sur­round­ings, over­whelmed by cir­cum­stances beyond his con­trol. It is a bleak, fatal­is­tic end­ing which implic­it­ly cap­tures the Amer­i­can zeit­geist of the pre-Water­gate era.

The same year as The French Con­nec­tion, Dirty Har­ry emerged with his car­toon­ish eye-for-an-eye ethos, and Death Wish vig­i­lan­tism was just around the cor­ner. Even the orig­i­nal choice for Har­ry, John Wayne, cor­ralled him­self into the urban crime mode with McQ. Yet Hack­man cre­at­ed the only ful­ly dimen­sion­al, relat­able char­ac­ter in the genre. There was no undue pos­tur­ing. No snap­py one-lin­ers. East­wood, Bron­son and Wayne were all about mythol­o­gis­ing the vio­lence, while McQueen hid behind a façade of cool. With Doyle con­flict­ed human­i­ty was always lurk­ing under the rough exterior.

Half a cen­tu­ry lat­er, the urgency of The French Connection’s qua­si-doc­u­men­tary style feels unde­ni­ably mod­ern. Ongo­ing police bru­tal­i­ty and the opi­oid cri­sis keep the film’s nar­ra­tive dis­turbing­ly rel­e­vant today. With its unflinch­ing reflec­tion of the social­ly polarised Amer­i­can real­i­ty, this true-crime thriller nego­ti­ates itself into a pend­ing polit­i­cal state­ment, as an unvar­nished por­tray­al of a coun­try in a fran­tic search of its moral centre.

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