Review of Klute (1971) by Devon B — 18 Dec 2009

Klute tries to be a throwback to the old detective noir stories of the 40s, as filtered through the lense of 70s hyper-realism and the result is something that draws from the worst aspects of both. This film has also convinced me finally and irreparably that Jane Fonda is one of the worst actresses of her generation.

She is the J-Lo of the 70s. J-Fo and J-Lo share much in common: neither is a well-rounded actress, but they each have one or two strengths on which they've managed to base an entire career. I enjoyed precisely one of Fonda's scenes in this movie, as she sits in the psychiatrists' office and helplessly decribes being in love with (Klute) and not understanding what it is she's feeling.

It's a well-written scene of surprising emotion. The rest of the film rips open the seedy underbelly of prostitution, pimps and junkies, or at least I'm sure it did to 1970s eyes. To modern eyes, the film seems a little quaint.

And dull. Dreadfully dull. The realism of 70s films (from Cassavetes' Killing of A Chinese Bookie to Altman's Nashville) have a tendency to bore me, with their incessant fascination with tedious and mundane activities (sometimes things are best left to a montage, rather than a ten minute, single-shot take of, for example, a man walking down the street and hailing a cab).

We get the gyst of it, no need to elaborate further. In the case of Klute, the film-making is the point, not the story. In fact, there's very little story to speak of. A man goes missing, a prostitute is receiving obscene letters from an anonymous person that is believed to be the missing man, and Klute is hired to find out if it is indeed him.

Klute goes to New York and in the process of his investigation, and despite all rationality, begins to fall for the prostitute. I think Donald Sutherland is a very good actor, but here he's given nothing to do, he stands around with a blank look on his face for most of the film, and his character is virtually all but silent.

Fonda's character is indifferent to him at first, but slowly realizes she's in love with him. Why she feels this way or why we should care, I don't know. We're expected to have some emotional attachment to Fonda, but I can't exactly figure out why.

The movie is intended to be a sort of thriller, but there's absolutely nothing thrilling or suspenseful here, save the last ten minutes. Eh. Maybe I'm just too picky when it comes to films: I like it when films are about something or have a point of view, or they make me feel a certain way or they have interesting characters.

When it comes to this particular film, I guess I just don't get its appeal. And you know what? I'm fine with that.