Bonnie and Clyde (1967)

"Someday they'll go down together

And they'll bury them side by side

To few it'll be grief, to the law a relief

But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde."

I firmly believe that Bonnie and Clyde is the film that changed American cinema, when the transition from Old Hollywood to New Hollywood was made, and filmmakers have not looked back since (except maybe with the occasional nostalgia). If you look at the Best Picture nominees for '67, the contrast from previous years is striking; The Graduate, which deals with post-grad angst and the isolated youth; In the Heat of the Night, concerning racial tensions; and Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, also concerning the aforementioned topic (a good year for Sidney Poitier, who starred in both, to be sure). Doctor Dolittle was also nominated, but that was more of a desperate attempt to hold on to the old and cherished than for true merit.

But it is astounding to think that Bonnie and Clyde, directed by Arthur Penn, was made in the same decade as the pristine pictures of the past. Following a cinematic world filled solely with implications, it deals so frankly with sex and violence that it's almost shocking. As has been told, it is the first film to show the bloody effects of gun violence, shielding nothing from the viewer.

"This here's Miss Bonnie Parker. I'm Clyde Barrow. We rob banks."

The story tells of the notorious Bonnie Parker (Faye Dunaway), a bored waitress, who runs away to a life of trouble, excitement, and violent chaos with Clyde Barrow (Warren Beatty). They soon round up the Barrow Gang, consisting of Clyde's brother Buck (Gene Hackman), his wife Blanche (Estelle Parsons), and C.W. Moss (Michael J. Pollard). It's ironic that a film that was so groundbreaking and controversial was actually set in the 30's, an era wonderfully warped by the movies to be a time of innocence. What was also innovative at the time was that our two heroes are actually villains, plagued by narcissistic qualities. They taunt and murder, yet we cannot help but root for them because we have been positioned to do so, and because they are young, beautiful, and alluring.

"You know what, when we started out, I thought we was really goin' somewhere.
 This is it. We're just goin', huh?"

Faye Dunaway is becoming my favorite actress, or at least one of them. Having seen all three of her Oscar-nominated performances in this one, Chinatown (1974), and Network (1976), for which she won, I can say undoubtedly that she brings a sense of credibility and self-assurance to each of her roles. She knows she's that good, which is what makes her fabulous. As Bonnie, she's a small town girl desperately craving excitement and adventure. She's not a bad person, just swept up by the call of adventure and glamor, because a girl that regal deserves nothing less. But at the same time, Dunaway also manages to show a softer, juvenile side; a homesick kid, wanting approval from an aging, old-fashioned mother.

"You know what you done there? You told my story, you told my whole story right there, right there."

Clyde is her conduit of thrills and danger, the one who knows her inside out from a single encounter, who makes her change her hairstyle, who teaches her how to shoot. The two were meant for each other, for a life of trouble, and Dunaway and Beatty's scenes are like crackling dynamite. It's one thing to be amazed by a great actor at work, but two playing off each other is awe-inspiring. Warren Beatty brings a swagger that can only mask insecurity. In a way, his robbing is his way of impressing Bonnie, masking the areas where he is lacking. And it's not like Beatty's face is too bad, either.

I have to mention the wonderful supporting turns by Gene Hackman and Estelle Parsons, the latter of whom won an Oscar. Hackman feels so real as the roguish Buck, a perfect contrast to his young brother. But it's Parsons who really steals the show as the shrill, coarse Blanche, who just does not understand the life of robbery. She isn't cut out of the same cloth as the others, earning her the rancor of Bonnie and general irritation of the rest of the gang. Her naivete leads to a mess of troubles for everyone, but somehow I felt pity for poor Blanche. Who was she to know what she was getting into?

Also, keep a lookout for Gene Wilder in his first film role! It's small, but he steals it nevertheless.

"What would you do if some miracle happened and we could walk out of here tomorrow morning
 and start all over again clean? No record and nobody after us, huh?" 

But possibly out of all these marvelous qualities, the cinematography is the most striking. Each rural setting had a life of its own in the camera, an arid look at the Depression. The lands the Barrow gang traipses are already ravaged by debt and decay, but they are breathtaking in the bleakness. There is one scene where the Barrow gang is having a picnic with the Parker family, after already having killed and robbed several times. We can see they're having a jolly time, but there is no music to give us that impression, and sand tints the frame, distancing us from the scene. They may look carefree, but they are murderers, and there's no denying that, says the camera. Stylistic choices such as those, I believe, are what make Bonnie and Clyde so unique. It elevates itself from simply a film about robbers to true poetry. The last scene, while hard to watch, ushered in a new era of cinema, one unafraid to be forthright about once taboo topics.