Bullitt (Peter Yates, 1968)

When a witness in protective custody is murdered, officer Frank Bullitt (Steve McQueen) smells something fishy.

Watching Bullitt for the first time in 23 years, I realise how much of an ur-text it is for a subset of my movie and musical taste.

The plot is labyrinthine, but it does not get in the way - to use the lingo of today, Bullitt  is a vibe movie.

  

McQueen’s minimalism, Lalo Schifrin’s score, the focus on showing place and process as an evocation of realism - all these elements combine to create a unique atmosphere.

Using the latest lightweight cameras, Bullitt lays out the template for the seventies cop thrillers that followed. 

Each scene about the case is bracketed by one showing Bullitt’s personal life.

While these two threads eventually are woven together, there is something fascinatingly shaggy about the film’s focus - mostly because it never feels like the movie is stalling.

The film’s low-key, vaguely verite approach makes the action sequences pop.

While Bullitt is not an action movie, the movie is a working draft for ideas that the genre would adopt - from McQueen’s iconic style to the anti-authoritarianism of the central character.

What is fascinating about the movie from an action standpoint, is that the car chase is at the midpoint of the story - while it is the action highlight, narratively it also leads into the character’s low point.

It is fascinating to see the seeds of the action genre’s two extremes here - the car chase and airport finale point forward to Dirty Harry, Lethal Weapon and their ilk. Those movies strip out all the shoe leather of Bullitt figuring out what’s going on, and just become primal conflicts between clear-cut moral opposites.

Scenes of police and medical process, meanwhile, would become features of the docu-dramatic approach adopted by The French Connection and other procedurals.

The violence stands out but the film also has a laconic sense of humour - McQueen checking out fresh produce before stocking upon TV dinners; Bullitt’s request for a new car is followed by a hard cut to him riding shotgun in his girlfriend’s little sports car. 

In this respect, it clarifies how much of an influence Eastwood’s deadpan Harry Callahan had on later movie cops. By contrast, McQueen barely speaks throughout the movie, and - while he is at odds with the brass - his rebelliousness is conveyed through action and evasion, rather than one-liners.

 The movie loses a little steam after the car chase - while the film attempts to give Bullitt some personal and professional stakes as the third act, the tension is a little undercooked.

Even so, the final sequence is exciting, and nothing detracts from the film’s vibe. This movie is one you can leave on and let play - it does not have the same sense of intensity as The French Connection nor the momentum of Dirty Harry, but it has a soft sell cool all of its own.

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