A Simple Conversation

The 1974 movie The Conversation (Francis Ford Coppola) stars Gene Hackman as Harry Caul, a preeminent figure in the corporate espionage field who finds himself in over his head over one simple recording. Francis Ford Coppola as writer and director not only creates a visually compelling story of one man's descent into madness, but also would foreshadow the landscape of the film industry and his own career in the coming years.

The movie opens on a long shot of San Francisco’s Union Square (fig. 1) where we find Caul and associates recording audio of the two targets, Mark and Ann. As Caul states to his associates in their operations van, he has little interest in what they are talking about or them as people, “I just want a nice fat recording.” His indifference to personal life becomes more apparent as we follow Caul back to his bare apartment that has little in it but scattered furniture, a record player, and his saxophone. We hear him argue with his landlord who had somehow managed to get past his numerous padlocks and home security alarm to place a birthday gift in his living room. There we hear him say, “I don't have anything personal. Nothing of value. No, nothing personal except my keys.” This desire to distance himself from the world is further emphasized by Caul’s visit to his mistress where we see how little he shares about himself. Refusing to tell even the slightest detail about his work or his past, he leaves her disheartened and possibly, that is the last time they will ever meet

Figure 1.

As the movie progresses we see Caul become increasingly paranoid as his suspicions about the purpose of the recording mount. We discover that in Caul’s past a previous job and subsequent involvement led to the murder of a teamster and his family back in New York City. His almost crippling fear of a recurrence slowly unravels Caul as the pieces of the puzzle fall into place giving meaning to the seemingly nonsensical conversation recorded.

Figure 2.

I must first say that the articles and information I found on this movie are staggering in the numerous interpretations and meanings behind sections of the movie. Not only did this technology-driven drama come out a mere two years after the Watergate scandal, but it also reflected the current state of independent film companies working with and against larger studios.[1] Coppola himself had first hand experience as a founding member of the independent film company American Zoetrope, and would later have in disputes with United Artists over Coppola’s 1979 movie Apocalypse Now and Heaven's Gate (1980)[2]. Further connections can also be made to the 1970’s documentary Gimme Shelter (Albert and David Maysles) which was worked on by fellow founder George Lucas as well as mixer Walter Murch and was even filmed using equipment from Zoetrope. The connections between the movie and the documentary can be seen early on in The Conversation and even allude to the the ending if you know what to look for.[3] In the documentary, the accidental recording of an actual murder at a Rolling Stones concert is emphasized by replaying the footage on the editor's desk over and over creating a numb sense of ambiguity and shock (fig. 2). The editor's desk seen in the documentary is almost identical to the equipment that would have been used daily in Zoetrope (fig. 3). This gives new meaning to Coppola’s choice to show Caul as he edits together the audio from Union Square obsessively going over the recording (fig. 4). Much like the repetition of Gimme, as the movie progresses Caul can’t stop replaying the recording, both physically and internally seeking to understand the meaning behind what he’s hearing as he remains helpless.

Figure 3., Figure 4.

Despite the statement this movie makes on the growing economy and psyche of 1970’s America I found myself more drawn to Coppola’s use of architecture and modern design to reflect Caul’s mental state. Much like long time favorites of mine 2001 A Space Odyssey (Stanley Kubrick, 1968) and A Clockwork Orange (Stanley Kubrick 1971), The Conversation’s ability to create tension and drama using abstract forms, modern grid design, and forced perspective caught my eye immediately and swiftly became my focus throughout the movie. As the plot progressed and more was revealed about Caul’s character, I began to see connections in what Coppola was showing us and what was happening to Caul.

As I delved into reviews, I found my views to be slightly different than that of Roger Ebert (2001)[4] and more so the initial review by the New York Times (1974).[5] New York Times’ Vincent Canby reaffirms my first implication that Caul becomes increasingly psychotic as the movie progresses, but it is this choice of Coppola’s that he calls The Conversation’s downfall. Canby goes on to state that the slipping mental facade of the main character,

“lessens the impact of the story Mr. Coppola has written for him. Psychotics make unreliable heroes. No rules need apply to them. Then there are times when Mr. Coppola seems to have forgotten the sort of character he has created.” [5]

This however, was long before the days of Natural Born Killers, The Machinist, A Beautiful Mind, and many other critically acclaimed movies that gave insight into mental health. Though I would not go so far as to label Harry Caul with a mental illness, The Conversation’s perspective of Caul gives him an almost Asperger-like obsession with control and disconnect driving the plot rapidly forward and creating tension for our hero Harry. While Canby cites this as the reason he dubs The Conversation, “a better-than-average melodrama,” I must disagree. While symbolism and design are stand out elements of the movie to me, the focus of his use of technology was a hotter topic in post watergate America,[5] making Caul’s use and preeminence in the field of technology a more central topic in Canby’s review.

In contrast to Canby’s review, I find myself in agreement with Ebert’s view of Caul as“a man who has removed himself from life, thinks he can observe it dispassionately at an electric remove.”[4] The voyeuristic cinematography Ebert observes is a key trope used quite literally early on in the movie. Instances of this can be seen in Coppola’s use of a programmable lens to take the continuous shot that opened the movie[3] as well as the first scene in Caul’s apartment. As the camera remains steady while Caul walks in and out of the shot Coppola waits to shift the scene on a flat plane and as we hear a mechanical grind to give the impression of simple security camera.

“I wanted the camera just to be dead, just to be there as if it was just a passive eavesdropping device” - Coppola

Where I disagree with Ebert is that he finds these elements to create, “a sadly observant character study,” while I found them to assist Coppola in creating a visual representation of Caul’s mental state returning to these tropes throughout the movie.

The emphasis Coppola puts on using new and automated camera work ties directly into the landscape of San Francisco itself. What was old San Francisco was disappearing and the grid-like urban design of modern was emerging around Coppola along with technology, especially around that what would be future Silicon Valley.[6] Those that were on the forefront of their fields were more than dedicated, they were obsessive and secretive, much like Caul. The order and anonymity of the city in this emerging digital age are reflected directly in Coppola's portrayal of Caul’s personality.

After the opening scene, we establish Caul’s desire for a don’t ask don’t tell way of doing business. All he wants at the end of the day is a “big fat recording” after all. Coppola chose to shoot this scene in Union Square in a direct reactionary approach. Post 45’s Lawrence Webb informs us that Coppola encouraged camera crew to follow the action with no actual direction or plan.[7] It is only in the aerial long shot of the whole square that we see any planned shots as well as reveal Caul’s control over the entire busy scene in this checkerboard square (fig. 1). The cameraman were hired guns and not even Caul knew why or what they were recording, just that they had a job to do. Here we see Caul calm and even happy as he jibs with his crew.

Figure 5.

Next we move again to a simple controlled view of the inside of Caul’s apartment (fig. 5). The steady “dead” camera discussed before not only establishes the simple nature of his lifestyle but what he considers personal: nothing but his key. Everything in the scene is clean corners and flat lines all along the same plane reflecting the uniformity Caul seeks in his mind as if he needs to reaffirm this dogma inside and out. Moving from private space to private space we arrive in Caul’s studio, much like that of the early days of Zoetrope it is in one of San Francisco's many empty warehouse spaces. In it we see a beautiful and literal gridwork of steel beams as Caul walks to his back room filled with his equipment and tapes (fig 6.). This hidden room where Caul will go on to spend most of his time might be considered his safe place, the place where he is most in his element among his machines.

Figure 6.

On his way to deliver his audio Caul then heads to the unnamed corporation to meet with the mysterious director. The anonymous offices of the director would occupy the newly completed Embarcadero Center (John Portman and Associates, 1971) whose stark brutalist style helped Coppola create some of my favorite shots in the entire movie. As Caul enters the building we are given another beautiful low shot that remains motionless as Caul walks through toward the doors (fig. 7). Framed on either side by the grid of the building and the sharp diagonal lines of the walkway I found myself almost comforted in its use of repetition and direction. The effect remains almost continual as we enter the lobby (fig. 8) with Coppola showing yet again the stark concrete grid of modern construction. As the diagonal lines seem to continue to push Caul further inside the bowels of this structure the camera remains completely stationary leaving the viewer at an electronic remove. This relates back to Caul’s apartment and giving me the impression that this is Caul at his most comfortable in public. Taking care of a simple business transaction that stays well within the line, grid, of his life.

Figure 7., Figure 8.

Finally we are at the point where we can feel the tension build as Caul rapidly makes his way to the bank of elevators elevator feeling something is a miss. The order and simplicity of the concrete grid of the Embarcadero building is then broken up by the wood grain backdrop of the elevator that seems to consume Caul as both of his subjects from Union Square get in the elevator right behind him (fig. 9). Caul begins to feel he has lost his control over the situation and so to the environment begins to loosen the cohesive grid and structure that was emphasized so emphatically by Coppola.

Figure 9.

This loss of control can immediately be seen in Caul rapidly returning to his warehouse, his safe space within his steel grid and technology. Going over the footage once again trying to clarify and make sense of what he is hearing he uncovers the most important line, “He’d kill us if he had the chance.” Hearing this, Caul begins to relapse into a paranoid state as he is reminded of the events of his past that ended in murder.

Next, he goes to the espionage convention that like many conventions is laid out in a large open room with rows and rows of vendors and show girls all peddling their wares (fig. 10). Not only is it another example of the grid in Caul’s life but this is the first activated grid full of motion and people we have seen since the opening scene in Union Square. This gave me the sense that though Caul was in his element among technology and people of his field, he remained on edge around such interruption of clean lines. Coppola once again repeats the dead camera trope more literally showing a security camera bank display Caul on the convention floor. Looking through the eyes of the security cameras we find out he is in fact being pursued by the directors assistant. More concerning is after passing over the assistant it pans back to land once more on Caul.

After this, in an uncharacteristic action, Caul invites some of his colleagues and some call girls back to his warehouse. This is the first time since the opening scene that we see a sort of friendship between Caul and his colleges. He brags and even shows off some of his equipment to emphasize how far ahead of the competition he is. Caul is even giddy as he shows his superiority over his competitor when posing the job of Union Square to him using charts and schematics. But this comfort is broken when it is revealed that the very competitor he invited into his safe space also placed a bug on Caul. As everyone vacates the warehouse the call girl from the convention remains as Caul plays the recording once again going over and over it in his mind as he slips into a hallucinogenic nightmare.

The next morning Caul awakens to find out that the call girl made off with the recording under the employ of the scheming assistant. This drives Caul, fearing murder, to go and attempt to find out the true intentions of all parties involved by going to the source. This takes Caul to the Jack Tar hotel where Mark and Ann, the subjects, planned to meet.

Figure 11., Figure 12.

Once there, in a complete state of chaos, Caul wanders through the modern maze that is the Jack Tar hotel to the room adjacent to Mark and Ann’s (fig. 11). The repetitive effect of the hotel is then doubled as Caul leans over the balcony and we see the repetitive starkness of the hotel’s face (fig. 12). As Caul drills a microphone into the wall underneath the bathroom sink we hear the events next door unfold. Listening to the argument unfold, the mechanical sound of a tape rewinding becomes the only sound we hear Caul’s own recording. Caul in full panic runs to the balcony and sees a bloody hand run down the gridded frosted glass as sounds of terror overwhelm the viewer (fig. 13). This quite literally shows the shattering of Caul’s moral psyche as there is blood on what he worships, the grid. He then collapses with the TV blaring and a blanket over his head. The TV in the background is actually a newscaster talking directly about the Watergate scandal. The newsman is also in fact Coppola giving himself a little cameo as well as tying the movie explicitly to the Watergate scandal (fig. 14). As Caul awakens slowly the TV has changed to the Flintstones cartoon. As Caul’s mental state deteriorated from the repercussions of his own actions, Coppola’s news cast ties Cauls actions to the political tone of the seventies. Then Caul almost resets himself as if reverting to a child-like state of ignorance with Saturday morning cartoons.

Caul then uncovers the evidence of the heinous murder and he is overcome once again and flees the hotel. It is here that we see my most self-affirming shot of the whole movie, the demolition of a city block (fig. 15). Though all of the architecture and design discussed earlier was key to Coppola’s vision of this movie as well as the portrayal of Harry Caul, we see very little construction or architectural disarray. The reason I found this surprising is all locations previously discussed were key figures in the urban renewal that was happening all around San Francisco at the time.[8] The only other direct reference to the highrises and changing landscape is in Caul’s first visit to the Embarcadero Center as you can glimpse the beam structure of a highrise being built below (fig. 16). This is also the first time Caul begins to feel paranoia around the recording. This furthers my view that Coppola’s choice to finally reveal demolition at Caul’s worst moment indicates Caul’s connection to the environment around him.

The last straw for Caul happens when he receives a phone call while playing the saxophone back at his apartment. Caul is then threatened with a new recording, one of him playing the saxophone not moments ago. In a paranoid panic, Caul then rips apart his apartment board by board to seek out the source of the recording. As he sits helpless on the studs of his last haven of sanity, we see the ruins of Caul’s psyche in the structure of the room he lies in (fig. 17). As the camera pans away, cold and robotic for the final time, Coppola has created the perfect closed circuit drama.

With the constant focus on advanced and modern cinematography, Coppola paints the perfect picture of Harry Caul’s psyche on the evolving skyline of San Francisco. As Caul finds balance, so too do Coppola’s shots. As more is revealed, the grid of the city disappears, giving way as does Caul’s crumbling psyche. At over forty years since its release I still could not look away from the brilliant cinematography and the relevant statement it still makes in our ever changing digital world where information leaks crumble careers and countries. Far from mediocre, this movie was truly an overlooked masterpiece of director and writer Francis Ford Coppola.

Susan Christopherson and Michael Storper, "The city as studio; the world as back lot: the impact of vertical disintegration on the location of the motion picture industry", Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, vol. 4 (1986): 305-320.
Steven Bach, Final Cut: Dreams and Disaster in the Making of Heaven's Gate (London: Faber and Faber, 1985)
06.22.14, L. W. (n.d.). Remapping The Conversation: Urban Design and Industrial Reflexivity in Seventies San Francisco. Retrieved March 07, 2017, from http://post45.research.yale.edu/2014/06/remapping-the-conversation-urban-design-and-industrial-reflexivity-in-seventies-san-francisco/#footnote_75_4973
Ebert, R. (2001, February 04). The Conversation Movie Review (1974) | Roger Ebert. Retrieved March 07, 2017, from http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/great-movie-the-conversation-1974
Canby, V. (n.d.). A Haunting 'Conversation':'Conversation' Retrieved March 07, 2017, from http://www.nytimes.com/movie/review?res=9F04E7D7133DEF32A25752C2A9629C946590D6CF
"Peter Hall, Cities in Civilization: Culture, Innovation, and Urban Order (London: Phoenix, 1999)
Robert B. Ray, A Certain Tendency of the Hollywood Cinema, 1930-1980 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985), 33
Chester Hartman with Sarah Carnochan, City for Sale: The Transformation of San Francisco (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2002). See also John H. Mollenkopf, The Contested City (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1983); Brian J. Godfrey, "Urban Development and Redevelopment in San Francisco," The Geographical Review vol. 87, no. 3 (July 1997), 309-333; Manuel Castells, "City and Culture: The San Francisco Experience," in Manuel Castells, The Castells Reader on Cities and Social Theory, ed. Ida Susser (Oxford and Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2002), 130-252; Susan F. Fainstein, Norman I. Fainstein, P. Jefferson Armistead, "San Francisco: Urban Transformation and the Local State," in Susan S. Fainstein et al., eds., Restructuring the City: The Political Economy of Urban Redevelopment (New York and London: Longman, 1986), 202-244.