My dad had been pushing this one for a few weeks and to be honest I was kind of dragging my feet. Then I saw an article on the recent Criterion re-release and was somewhat intrigued but still I let it lie for a bit at the back of my mind. Given Yates’s other works (the Dark Crystal-esque “Krull” among them), who would’ve felt like they were missing out, right? So, for the most part, I didn’t feel too obligated to shift Peter Yates’s “Friends of Eddie Coyle” to the top of my queue. Don’t get me wrong, I loved “Bullitt” as much as the next guy, but it wasn't really a big issue. Then I managed to catch a bit of dialogue from the film, no longer than maybe a minute or two, between Robert Mitchum (Coyle) and Steven Keats as they discussed the origin of Coyle’s gangland nickname: “Fingers”.
Needless to say I was somewhat taken aback by the haggard, trenchcoat-laden Mitchum. With an apparent laze in his drawl, he lays out a bit of old guard persuasion to the little would-be gunrunner sitting opposite him as he carefully noshes on a slice of quiche. There has always been a refined roughness to Mitchum regardless of the role he’s been given. The original Max Cady for instance. The private-eye Jeff Bailey. Captain Bill Walker from “Story of GI Joe”. Even the murderous ‘preacher’ Harry Powell had it. With Mitchum, the danger always seems to be that he’s one of those guys you’d feel totally comfortable with in public. The kind of guy who’s relaxed but can carry and hold an engaging conversation without getting too narcissistic about it. The kind of guy you could really start to like, not because of his good looks or status, but because he evokes that sense of an average guy because he probably is one. And yet there’s that nagging sense of awe. Even fear. Because while he may have that nice-guy visage, he’s also got that Roosevelt big-stick methodology as well. He’s perfectly at ease with using whatever means, be it the carrot or the stick, to make his point. A man whose mood seems to melt with the room temperature, like the father who’s equally willing to praise or beat his child depending on the temperament of the child. Not the other way around. And I mean all of that in the best way possible.
Much of the run-time is occupied by other supporting roles by fellas like Keats, Alex Rocco, Richard Jordan and Peter Boyle, each of adding a telling dimension to Coyle as his life shifts slowly from one day to the next. As the title would suggest, the focus is predominantly about his relationship to everyone else. So while Mitchum occupies only a fraction of that intricate web, amid his intelligent but cocky protégé (Keats), the bank robber he supplies with guns (Rocco), the bartender and confidant he patrons (Boyle) or the cop to whom Coyle is ultimately an informer (Jordan), the world Yates has crafted seems in perfect, multi-layered balance. And if Mitchum’s character seems stuck between these other players, it’s because he certainly is. With tired eyes, he tells us that all he wants to do is clear his social and professional debt for a botched job for which he was busted, cutting deals with Boston’s detectives for some kind of leverage, with the hope that one day he can remove himself from all of this physically. Not just mentally.
In a brand-new commentary track by Peter Yates, sounding like an older Peter O’Toole, and a series of production stills, the decision-making process comes out and a fuller image of Coyle’s eventual creation comes to light. The elimination of a number of principal action sequences and the faithfulness to the psychology of George V. Higgins’s original novel all attest to the dramatic priority that was given to Mitchum’s portrayal of Coyle. The movie almost prides itself on being mostly non-violent, the same way many of the criminals appear throughout. There’s a professionalism, a restraint to the action, that is very refreshing. And even though David Grusin’s jazzy score is loosely kindred of Lalo Schifrin’s work with Yates years earlier, the resemblance is only fleeting. And where once there was sexiness and glitz there is a wonderful soberness instead. As before, the dialogue is richly textured and it might even require a double-take of your own to really get a good appreciation of the style. It did for me anyhow.
If you’re looking for the same kind of style that made the Frisco supercop Frank Bullitt famous, you best keep on gunning. Mitchum represents something entirely different. Honestly, he should have been nominated for an Oscar. He sports the gruff wisdom of a blue-collar grandfather and the street-wise truncation of his words that lets you know he really does mean business. It really does seem to be the role he was always born to play. Whether it’s the character or a little bit of himself slipping through the net, the cracked lines in his face seem to be bookmarks, notches indicating the halfway point through a life which could have afforded to treat him better. His weariness makes it perfectly clear that he’s no longer looking to build a reputation or even maintain one, in the eyes of the cops or his criminal cronies. He’s just out to live for the only thing that seems to matter anymore. Himself.
Appreciated most if: A.) If you liked “The Departed” or the Boston crime scene in general. B.) Character-driven dramas. C.) You’ve just had an FML moment.
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