Trust No One: The lingering paranoia of The… | Little White Lies

In Praise Of

Trust No One: The lin­ger­ing para­noia of The Par­al­lax View

09 Feb 2021

Words by Saffron Maeve

Aerial view of a coastal city with silhouetted figures on a ledge against a hazy sky.
Aerial view of a coastal city with silhouetted figures on a ledge against a hazy sky.
Alan J Pakula’s pre­scient 1974 polit­i­cal thriller sees War­ren Beat­ty infil­trate a shady organisation.

About an hour into The Par­al­lax View, Joe Frady (War­ren Beat­ty) sits in a large arm­chair. His body is cast in shad­ow, then briefly lit a stark white before slip­ping back into dark­ness. An over­head voice instructs him to place his fin­gers along the sen­sors on either side of him. We hope you find the test a pleas­ant expe­ri­ence,” the speak­er coos. That voice and the peo­ple it rep­re­sents are try­ing to brain­wash him, and Frady knows it.

Pic­tures and title cards flash up on the screen in front of him and sub­se­quent­ly, us: HOME, COUN­TRY, MOTH­ER, FATHER, ME, LOVE, ENE­MY, GOD, HAP­PI­NESS. Pho­tos of cheer­lead­ers turn into Uncle Sam, then into the White House, Nazi Ger­many, a moth­er and her son, pornog­ra­phy. A ham­mer-wield­ing Thor becomes a grave­yard. As the words and images are sped up, they col­lapse into each oth­er, giv­ing the audi­ence the impres­sion that they’re all the same, or at the very least, connected.

With the tagline As Amer­i­can as apple pie’, The Par­al­lax View makes a promise to the view­er right off the bat: the movie we’re about to see is not just Amer­i­can, but an encap­su­la­tion of what it means to be Amer­i­can. It’s dif­fi­cult to look back upon films from the 1970s with­out imbu­ing them with the country’s polit­i­cal cli­mate – the after­shocks of JFK and MLK’s assas­si­na­tions, the Viet­nam War, Water­gate – but few of them active­ly rein­force their ties to real­i­ty. It’s essen­tial that this one does.

The Par­al­lax View, the oft-over­looked mid­dle child of Alan J Pakula’s para­noia tril­o­gy’ (with Klute and All the President’s Men), presents us with not so much a plot as a prob­lem. What do you do when the insti­tu­tions that gov­ern you are shaped by a shad­owy organ­i­sa­tion of polit­i­cal assas­sins? Mind you, you’re a low­ly reporter with a drink­ing prob­lem, and your cred­i­bil­i­ty is nil. How do you shake some­thing a thou­sand times your weight?

This is Frady’s dilem­ma. Three years after a Bob­by Kennedy-esque assas­si­na­tion – which was wrong­ful­ly declared a one-man job – Frady’s ex-girl­friend comes to him in a pan­ic. She was one of 12 pho­tographed wit­ness­es to the shoot­ing, and six oth­ers have since mys­te­ri­ous­ly died; she’s cer­tain she’s next. Frady shrugs her off as an alarmist, sneers, and lets her leave. Three days lat­er, he’s lean­ing over her body in a morgue, pre­sum­ably wish­ing he hadn’t.

From here on, Beatty’s usu­al machis­mo is peeled back to reveal a num­ber of sober­ing and dis­tinct­ly Amer­i­can truths about pol­i­tics, manip­u­la­tion and pow­er. Frady takes to unspool­ing the mur­ders him­self, which involves trekking through a small and eerie fish­ing town, fak­ing his death, infil­trat­ing the Par­al­lax Cor­po­ra­tion under an alias, and, inevitably, being framed for a senator’s murder.

Two men in casual clothing standing in a dimly lit interior setting.

The Par­al­lax Cor­po­ra­tion, which recruits men with anti­so­cial ten­den­cies to car­ry out polit­i­cal assas­si­na­tions, hides in plain sight. It has defin­i­tive ties to police and its Divi­sion of Human Engi­neer­ing’ HQ (a bit on the nose) is packed into a Bru­tal­ist office build­ing, between a gas and oil com­pa­ny and a trans­port ser­vice. The cor­po­ra­tion oper­ates with an unset­tling cool­ness. Bet­ter yet, an unset­tling sense of security.

It seems fit­ting that The Par­al­lax View should now be added to the Cri­te­ri­on Col­lec­tion. In 1974, the film was a deft­ly-pack­aged gift to the para­noid, dis­il­lu­sioned pub­lic; today it caters to a sim­i­lar­ly anx­ious audi­ence, one caught in the crosshairs of insur­rec­tion, glob­al mal­a­dy and ram­pant racial inequity.

Float­ing through the fake news’ era of Amer­i­can pol­i­tics is a famil­iar cry for an impen­e­tra­ble, holis­tic truth. It’s no acci­dent that Frady is a reporter, not to men­tion one whose jour­nal­is­tic integri­ty is con­stant­ly scru­ti­nised by those around him. His iden­ti­ty as a jour­nal­ist both threat­ens those sys­tems work­ing against him and allows him to be manip­u­lat­ed by them.

It’s also worth not­ing that the politi­cians in The Par­al­lax View are con­spic­u­ous­ly non­par­ti­san. Sen­a­tor Car­roll, the first to be assas­si­nat­ed, is described as almost too inde­pen­dent for his own good,” while Sen­a­tor Gilling­ham, the intend­ed tar­get of a plane bomb­ing, is told by a friend: You’re too strong on one side, [your opponent’s] too strong on the other.”

For a polit­i­cal thriller, The Par­al­lax View is large­ly uncon­cerned with ide­ol­o­gy. Rather than flog­ging the peren­ni­al dead horse of two-par­ty pol­i­tics with a limp whip, Paku­la toss­es it alto­geth­er. One can, of course, point to Nixon’s Amer­i­ca as a cat­a­lyst for the film’s para­noia, but its cen­tral the­sis seems fit to endure any pres­i­den­cy: trust nobody, trust the gov­ern­ment even less.

It’s that tit­u­lar word, par­al­lax’, which haunts the film, sug­gest­ing that we can nev­er ful­ly under­stand the sys­tems that affect us, only frag­ments avail­able from our van­tage point. We don’t know at the end if the gov­ern­ment is com­plic­it in the assas­si­na­tions or just woe­ful­ly obtuse, but what’s worse is that it doesn’t mat­ter: they present the same outcome.

The film ends as it opens: a con­gres­sion­al com­mit­tee – uncan­ni­ly sim­i­lar to the War­ren Com­mis­sion – slow­ly shrinks into the screen, dol­ing out false state­ments about a lone con­spir­a­tor, urg­ing the pub­lic to dis­miss any the­o­ry that sug­gests oth­er­wise. Their faces are far­away and unrecog­nis­able. We watch them hide. What could be more unnerv­ing? What could be more American?

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