KLUTE: Blu-ray (Warner Bros. 1971) Criterion

The unofficial entrée in what would eventually come to be considered Alan J. Pakula’s ‘paranoid trilogy’ (the other two movies, 1974’s The Parallax View, and, 1976’s All the President’s Men) Klute (1971) remains a fascinating, if apocalyptic character study, sustained primarily by Jane Fonda’s complex and genuine performance as sex-trade worker, Bree Daniels. Today, everyone even remotely familiar with the picture associates its title with Fonda’s prostitute. But actually, the title refers to John Klute (top-billed Donald Sutherland), a Pennsylvanian detective on the hunt for missing industrialist, Tom Gruneman (Robert Milli).  The plot and the point of Klute – the movie – diverge as Andy and David E. Lewis’ screenplay is focused on Klute’s trail of breadcrumbs that lead him into the seedy labyrinth of downtown Manhattan and we largely lose interest in ever finding out what became of Gruneman, but instead become embroiled in a problematic ‘romance’ between Fonda’s prickly sex-peddler and Klute’s ever-evolving need to protect her from an uptown serial killer targeting hookers. Thinly, Bree gets implicated in Klute’s investigation after certain letters surface, connecting Bree to Gruneman. Bree’s unpredictable nature keeps both Klute and the audience guessing. Her inability to see men as anything more or better than a means of survival, creates a genuine wedge in her burgeoning trust issues as she and Klute grow closer, and eventually, become lovers. It’s a performance…or is it? Does Bree come to love Klute or is she just using him? Klute is all very good up to the point where Pakula suddenly decides to expose the true identity of the killer to his audience – well in advance of its dénouement – and then, with somewhat dampening interest, shifts the narrative focus to a very traditional ‘damsel in distress’ trope for which the forthright and tough-as-nails Fonda just seems an ill fit. The mystery evaporated, the last act of Klute devolves into a race against time as Bree comes face to face with Peter Cable (Charles Cioffi) – the unlikely, though bone-chilling serial killer in a three-piece suit, and Klute, desperate to wrap up his investigation, gallantly rushes to her aid.

Grueman’s vanishing act is essentially the McGuffin that fuels two very intricately woven character studies into one imperfect ball of yarn; Pakula, evolving the picture’s plot like a soft and pliable putty, from crime caper to damaged affair, examining Klute's motives and relationship with Bree from multiple perspectives that thematically compliment the, as yet, unclear particulars of our story. Who is Bree Daniels? Not the kittenish and sly sex worker who lures potential clients to slip between her loins by haggling over price, “We could have a good time for fifty,” or the modern, clear-eyed feminist who unravels with fear when terrorized by an unseen assailant, stalking her every move. For that matter, who is John Klute? Steely-eyed, and near emotionless; Klute is a pragmatist, though not entirely suited to his chosen line of work, and, stumbling blindly through both his investigation and this unusual infatuation that means oh so much more to him than a sexual diversion. When together, Bree and Klute play their parts. Apart, they become different people – or rather, allow their façades to slip, enough for the audience to catch a better impression of precisely what makes each of them tick. Initially, Bree toys with Klute as she does all her clientele, an act to unsettle the usually pragmatic detective, but also giving rise to Bree’s nattering self-doubt and then, a deeper nuance meant to question her independence.  

Jane Fonda’s edgy concentration defines Bree Daniels as an expert in her field: bright, but misanthropic, and refreshingly, lacking that proverbial heart of gold usually ascribed as a ‘saving grace’ for fallen women in the movies. Bree has no emotional feeling towards men, so we learn from sessions with her analyst. But she does take an uncanny pride in turning tricks creatively to give each client a personalized service. Conversely, Donald Sutherland’s John Klute is characterized by a certain disassociation from the task at hand; unraveling Grueman’s disappearance, yet to become entangled in a relationship that is ‘difficult’ at best. So, Klute’s interest in Bree – initially – stems from a more primal male instinct, that of her protector. Even if Bree’s acquiescence to Klute is selfishly predicated on her need to have him stand guard, after her apartment is burgled by a pervert who leaves fresh secretions in her split-crotch panties, the understanding to eventually arise between Bree and Klute is more exhilaratingly strange than awkward. Point blank: Pakula allows us to see the direction from whence both individuals are coming. The thriller aspect is not so easily licked, perhaps because Pakula is always shifting the vantage. We get obscene letters and mysterious phone calls, and midnight prowling, hands stretched ominously across a chain-link fence. But the point of view is oft established from the potential killer’s POV, leaving the audience to identify with him instead of his intended victim.  

Even so, Pakula is more interested in this détente and drama unfolding between Klute and Bree than he is in heightening the fear factor to nail-biting heights. And in this regard, Klute – the movie – is very good, indeed; Sutherland and Fonda, falling apart or coming together, providing us with two fascinating characters, much more well-rounded and interesting in their suppressed motivations than movie cutouts usually get. He contemplates fate; she talks to a shrink. He wants to find true love in a call girl’s arms. She aspires to leave ‘the life’, go legit and become a super model.  Could happen – but probably won’t, and actually doesn’t by the time Klute – the movie – has run its course. So, despite its gritty façade of seedy New York, Klute develops into an exchange of intellectual ideas, muscularly expressed by two of the best actors of their generation. If the picture lacks genuine thrills – and, it does – then, it more than makes up for this deficit with its difficult to pin down sex appeal.  And Pakula still finds time to examine the psychological shortages unique to urban dwellers; claustrophobia, emotional isolation, and loneliness in a city of 8 million. How utterly tragic! From this dystopian point of view, we can certainly see how someone – anyone, in fact – could suddenly disappear without a trace or lose touch with reality. So, finding – and holding on to - one’s own identity in a metropolis populated by soulless stick figures is Klute’s real modus operandi.

The Lewis’ screenplay challenges each character’s inhibitions, exposes their failings, and, lays our protagonists bare to ridicule – or at least, de-constructive criticism. And lest we remember, the socio-political climate from which Klute emerged; male/female boundaries being tested by second-wave feminism and the sexual revolution, framed by political unrest at home (Watergate) and abroad (the Cold War/Vietnam), with concrete evidence the world had indeed lost its mind, manifested in spiking crime rates, urbane blight and moral turpitude.  In many ways, Klute is a response – or perhaps, a commentary – on that wrinkle in time; a railing against it too, plying the viewer with that badly mangled sixties’ mantra…something about ‘love’ being ‘all you need.’ The unsolved crime, whatever became to Klute’s best friend, Tom Gruneman, does not rate a dénouement, though it kick-starts the plot after Manhattan police are caught at a standstill for clues. Klute is then hired by Tom’s boss, Peter Cable to navigate through this subterranean labyrinth.  The trail leads to Bree, whose anonymous and threatening letters may have come from Tom.  Bree is, in fact, the fragile core of a mobile around which all the various mysteries dangle like a self-destructive and ticking time bomb. Bree’s consciousness governs her destiny, and she is immobilized by it.

The other ‘character’ in the movie is New York – herein, magnified in all its taut and constricting ugliness by Michael Small’s off kilter underscore, Gordon Willis’ darkly oppressive cinematography, and art director, George Jenkins creation of a call girl’s apartment, as something of an incomplete tunnel to nowhere. Indeed, Jenkins sought Jane Fonda’s input here, and she helped to decorate its walls and furniture with dissimilar odds and sods – a shawl across the canopy bed, a picture of JFK on the wall and bits of discarded bric-a-brac scattered everywhere; a room that, like its inhabitant, is incomplete, very rough and frayed around the edges. Our introduction to Bree is that of the proverbial fish out of water, aspiring at try-outs for a hand model, and again, not having what it takes to escape her past. So, Bree settles for a chance to impress garment-factory owner, Goldfarb (Morris Strassberg); at first, mis-perceived as just another dirty old man in need of Bree’s services. Instead, we get what is likely the most tender moment in the picture; the aged Jewish factory owner not interested in sex at all, but rather, watching Bree dress-up for him while spinning her yarns for his amusement. For both Goldfarb and Bree, this is sheer escape from their otherwise paralytic lives. Out of character for both, neither is out to take advantage of the other.  By contrast, Peter Cable, another of Bree’s johns, is a shadowy sadist, having murdered Tom Grueman for discovering him in the act of killing Jane McKenna, a prostitute later discovered face down in the Hudson. Cable relishes inflicting pain, but blames Bree as the catalyst who exposed him to his weakness, left unchecked and now allowing him to continue to do these very bad things. Cable is out for Bree, recording her words, making crank calls, stalking her at night, breaking into her apartment and shredding her clothes. If John Klute is the country cousin migrated to the city, then Cable is the personification of all that the evil city may hold and bring forth as wrath upon these two unsuspecting cohorts.

The Lewis’ screenplay is even more alarming as it presents Cable and Klute as two sides of a physical manifestation for the internalized struggle brewing within Bree, creating friction and unease that threatens to send her over the edge into even more self-destructive behavioral patterns. Both men are threatened in their masculinity by this conflicted femme fatale. Cable finds his relief by killing.  But Klute survives a similar sense of self-loathing, choosing love instead, but also, because he can see Bree as she really is, and, is not intimidated by her in the end. The original ending to Klute was to have included a marriage proposal, reluctantly accepted by Bree. Both the Lewis’s and Pakula felt this was too optimistic a finale. So, the movie ends with Bree leaving New York and Klute following her back to Pennsylvania. In all probability, if fate has not smiled on this unlikely coupling, then Klute and Bree’s departure from the city has already resulted in their own separate salvation.  

Jane Fonda justly took home the Academy Award for this performance – a heady decade for the star who courted accolades for her ever-evolving creative work, but extreme controversy for her liberal politics. At the time of its release, Klute appealed to early feminist film critics for its psychological realism, Bree Daniel’s aspirations to leave ‘the life’ seen as a woman taking control of her own destiny. Indeed, Bree Daniels does not take anything from anyone – even attacking Klute twice, once with a pair of scissors. A decade later, however, feminist critics of a different ilk would overturn this praise, claiming that, despite its strong female protagonist, Bree’s attempt to steer her own destiny is moot, not only because it involves various relapses with her pimp, Frank Ligourin (Roy Scheider), but in the end, is endorsed by love in the arms of another man who will take care of her – a trade-off that allows for a complete loss of identity. Bree's decision to abandon urban New York for rural Pennsylvania is therefore not without personal cost. Speaking of cost, on a relatively modest budget of $2.5 million, Klute went on to earn $12 million in domestic sales – proof positive, Fonda had made her mark as an actress to be reckoned with for some years yet to follow.

Klute arrives on Blu-ray via Warner Home Video’s third-party distribution agreement with Criterion. Personally, I think someone here has dropped the ball. Criterion has advertised this 1080p release as a ‘new digital transfer’ from an original 35mm camera negative, supervised by cameraman, Michael Chapman. And while light-years ahead of Warner’s now defunct DVD release from 1999, I actually think Klute still looks a little worse for the wear this time around. Gordon Willis’ cinematography is distinct, experimenting with soft light and shadows and dull, muted colors to achieve an urban gritty texture. But film grain during the darkest scenes is amplified to such egregious levels it all but breaks apart the image, creating eye-strain to find these details, even when viewed in a completely darkened room. The image here is not tight, but sloppy, loose and haggard, like a badly worn negative was used in the mastering process. Personally, I found this quite distracting. Things improve with ambient light sources used to brighten the overall image for day scenes. And color grading reveals subtle textures that, on occasion are startlingly refined. Age-related damage also has been eradicated.  Criterion favors a 1.0 lossless audio, revealing remarkable clarity in Michael Small's underscore, with dialog that is stable and presented at an adequate listening level. We get a newly recorded ‘conversation’ piece with Jane Fonda and Illeana Douglas, as well as a documentary about Klute and director Alan J. Pakula by filmmaker Matthew Miele, plus, a new interview with writer, Amy Fine Collins and archival interviews with Pakula and Fonda, and, a vintage featurette made to promote the movie. All this is capped off by a handsome booklet with essays by Mark Harris and excerpts derived from a 1972 interview with Alan Pakula. Bottom line: Klute is a seminal movie from the seventies. I am not entirely sold on this Blu-ray remaster. It looks great sometimes, and utterly grain-heavy to the point of distraction at others. The extras have been wonderfully assembled and are well worth the price of admission. Judge and buy accordingly.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

3.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

3.5

EXTRAS

5+