HOFFMAN HOLDS IT ALL TOGETHER – POSSIBLY HIS BEST PERFORMANCE EVER
Movie Review – Straight Time
Review by Steven Lewis
This film is inadequate on so many levels – not BAD, mind you, but inadequate; it posits a very strong and promising story – following ex-con Max Dembo (great name, that) from the moment of his release from prison and chronicling his attempts at re-integrating himself with the outside world, ending in the wasteful tragedy of him returning to a life of crime. A powerful premise, obviously, as it contains the possibility of exposing the prison system as caring solely about locking up, rather than rehabilitation; it would let a character like Max whither on the vine for years and years, then release him coldly into the world with no props, no survival skills, no real knowledge of anything but crime, violence, and institutional thinking. The indignity of the parolee’s existence, belonging neither to the jail nor really to the outside world, comes through here in several of the opening scenes – particularly those between Dembo and his imposing parole officer (underplayed superbly by M. Emmet Walsh – in a role which was directly responsible for the Coen Brothers casting him in “Blood Simple”), and they are striking. But there are just not enough of them before Max jumps back into the convict’s life: the latter two thirds of the movie involve his attempted scores with old buddies, leaving the examination of the whys and wherefores of his defection from the law-abiding life to simply drift into the wind. Indeed, I’d say the film throws away its true strength and uniqueness early, in order to settle into being a fairly routine and unspectacular caper thriller. It’s too bad because it’s such a great premise – that of the put upon ex-con – and one that’s been used as a thematic basis for such later classic movies as “Heat”, “The Shawshank Redemption” and “Carlito’s Way.” But “Straight Time” – probably one of the first films to ever deal with the subject head on – never really uses it to much benefit.
What makes the film something to see, though, in spite of itself, is the toweringly great performance by Dustin Hoffman as Max. This may very well be his single greatest performance – even taking such classics as “The Graduate”, “Tootsie” and “Kramer vs. Kramer” into account. For one thing, he eschews the mannered gestures and speaking patterns that tend to bring a stagey-ness to even his best performances; in “Straight Time” Hoffman is a model of stillness and calm – and yet, with a ferocious electricity in his eyes and a wiry tension in his body that at all moments practically scream, “Kill!” Though his character has relatively little dialogue (that is, for a leading role), you can’t take your eyes off of him, because you’re perpetually scared at what he might do. As it happens, the violence in the film is fairly minimal, but Hoffman sears the screen with such coiled intensity that you are kept afraid and off guard at every minute (and, of course, when the worst finally comes, it packs quite a punch – no pun intended). I truly believe this performance bears comparison to that other great mid-70s showcase of quiet angst and intensity – Robert DeNiro in “Taxi Driver” (and, while we’re making comparisons, even to Pacino in “The Godfather Part II”).
Though he can’t make up for lackluster direction and a lazy script, Hoffman does as much as any actor could reasonably do to fill in the blanks of Max’s personality. His flat, deadened voice suggests a man who has been beaten down so long that all passion and animation have been removed from his larynx; his stony and expressionless face registers neither joy nor sorrow, letting us know all excitement and expectation have been drained from this man. Even his affair with the fresh-faced and pretty Theresa Russell (a hackneyed and unconvincing sub-plot, in any case) can arouse no great feeling in him; when he has to, he abandons her with no greater thought or regret than one would feel for a misplaced duffel bag.
Again I say, the first part of this film – which establishes Max’s desire to fit in on the outside and his frustrated attempts at doing so – is so strong and Hoffman’s performance so focused and intense (cementing our connection to him almost immediately) that it leaves you breathless for a great movie that, alas, never comes. In fact, the film gives up on its own greatness relatively early on. But, even after all the disappointment at the wasted opportunities, still there remains the memory of Dustin Hoffman’s fantastically controlled and harrowing performance. And you know what? That turns out to be – just barely – enough.
