Classic Review: Point Blank (1967)

One can’t help but be suspicious of film theorists who are overeager to suggest that affectless, emotionally abstract genre exercises actually reflect the crazed delusions of dying men who can’t come to terms with the trauma that has been inflicted upon them. This argument is usually backed up by flimsy conjecture and tends to provide the sort of superficial thrills that obscure the ontological concerns that lie at the heart of all existential thrillers. Point Blank is one of those Uber-cool mainstream thrillers that has been fervently embraced by the crowd who are forever reclaiming middlebrow action flicks from the early 1980s. Dozens of think pieces have been written about its unconventional structure and incisive commentary on the spiritual desolation of modern life, which means that it has been saddled with a rather lofty critical reputation.

Unfortunately, the argument that Point Blank is a cross between Hiroshima, My Love and The Naked City, with a dash of Antonioni’s modernism thrown into the mix doesn’t quite track. One can clearly sense that the most provocative and attention grabbing arthouse pictures of this period had a profound influence on John Boorman’s filmmaking style but the film never stops feeling like a standard crime drama with artsy-fartsy trappings laid on top of all of the overly familiar genre conventions. Boorman can be credited with directing the hell out of every scene and he does manage to successfully establish disconcerting narrative rhythms, which is no easy fate, but the picture goes downhill whenever Lee Marvin opens his mouth. 

On its surface, the story is fairly simplistic, as it revolves around a mysterious ‘organization’ that holds a considerable amount of sway in the criminal underworld of Los Angeles. Career criminal Mal Reese (John Vernon) owes a large debt to the organization and ends up using the money that he stole during a heist in order to pay off his debt. In order to obtain these funds, Reese had to betray his close friend Walker (Marvin), whom he left for dead for on Alcatraz Island after running off with their stolen money. Walker survives and returns to Los Angeles, intent on recovering the $93,000 that he feels is owed to him. He begins to systematically kill off different members of the crime syndicate in an attempt to make his way to the top, but finds that it may be impossible to find anyone who is willing to pay him off. 

Even if Point Blank doesn’t quite manage to convince as the Night and Fog of pulpy 1960s thrillers, it can still claim to be one of the most effortlessly stylish on-screen depictions of Los Angeles. Philip H. Lathrop paints the city as an underpopulated wasteland in which human beings are dwarfed by the infrastructure that surrounds them. Bridges, power lines and skyscrapers always loom in the distance whilst still seeming completely disconnected from the world that Walker and his associates inhabit. The harsh California sunlight is given a texture all its own and every surface appears to be unusually dense and impenetrable. The location scouts who worked on this production also deserve praise for seeking out vast, empty landscapes that manage to inspire both fear and awe when captured through Boorman’s lens. All of this intricate detail keeps the viewers eyes glued to the screen. 

Perhaps viewers will find it difficult to fully accept the notion that this is actually a ghost story that plays around with metaphysical concepts but there’s no real reason to stay away from this starkly beautiful exploration of one man’s meaningless quest. That being said, why would anyone turn down the opportunity to gaze at perfectly composed shots of the Los Angeles River Basin Waterway?

still courtesy of MGM

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Zita Short

I am passionate about screwball comedies from the 1930s and certain actresses from the Golden Age of Hollywood. I’ll aim to review new Netflix releases and write features, so expect a lot of romantic comedies and cult favourites.