Unter Wasser stirbt man nicht

The Drowning Pool is Paul Newman's second and last time as private detective Lew Harper. The plot takes him to the Louisiana bayou country where an old flame Joanne Woodward has hired him to trace and find out who's been sending her nasty notes about her sex life.

The investigation quickly centers around recently fired chauffeur Andy Robinson, but before long Newman gets himself immersed in the local politics of the area with a slick oil millionaire (Murray Hamilton), Woodward's nymphomaniac daughter (Melanie Griffith), an obsessed police lieutenant (Anthony Franciosa) and various and sundry other bayou characters. Quite a few of the characters are killed off before the climax.

The Drowning Pool goes somewhat astray in its development, but the ends are nicely tied together at the climax.

The hit song made popular by Helen Reddy in the seventies, Killing Me Softly With His Song, comes from The Drowning Pool. It was a mega hit back in the day and to my amazement I discovered it wasn't even nominated for an Oscar.

Of course my favorite here is Anthony Franciosa. He had an incredible ear for dialect and he really got the Cajun speech patterns down to perfection.

But the real reason I love The Drowning Pool is the scene where Paul Newman and Gail Strickland are locked in a hydrotherapy room by Murray Hamilton. Strickland is Hamilton's wife. Why they are both there I won't say, but their escape from the room is one of the most spectacular ever put on film.

You should see The Drowning Pool for that alone.

A mature, intelligent thriller, in which Newman recreates Lew Harper. It takes place around New Orleans and involves public corruption and an intricate web of deceit.

The style is fairly laid-back, though it doesn't actually lag - even though it sometimes seems it's about to. The characters are all sharply delineated and complex, and there is a lot of very good acting going on.

Thoroughly watchable, with some tension and suspense, but only sporadic action.

Ross MacDonald's novels generally translate well to movie. This one certainly does, although I've never seen a Ross MacDonald movie that successfully captures the atmosphere that MacDonald creates in his novels. Paul Newman is the detective Lew Archer (I seem to remember that his name was changed to Harper for the movie to keep a string of "H" movies going: Hud, Hombre, and Harper). The movie moves along with a complex plot that is not difficult to track and understand. Melanie Griffith is perfection in the role of the 14-year old seductress. >

Where Harper was jazzy, amped up for its day and often dark humored in its intrigue and violence, this sequel has more of a laid-back and ultimately melancholy tone. The humor is still there, but the dysfunctional family theme that produced edgy laughs in the earlier film cuts deeper here.

Newman looks great and is as effortlessly effective as ever as he prowls Cajun Country, at the behest of onetime flame Joanne Woodward, in search of a blackmail source that quickly turns into much more. Filmed all over South Louisiana, including a mansion shot here in Baton Rouge, it gets the local flavor down pretty well.

Dismissed as draggy even in its day, and certainly so in the age raised on the newspaper ad quote "A Thrill Ride!!!", it's a thoughtful, well acted addition to the private eye genre, with Melanie Griffith coming out the gate full force as a troublesome nymphet (an interesting predatory flip-side to the victimized variation seen later the same year in the superb Night Moves.)

Hopefully a widescreen DVD will one day soon afford its excellent Panavision photography to be seen for the first time in 25 years.

Paul Newman returns to his private detective role Lew Harper, following 1966's "Harper", in another murder-yarn adapted from a Ross Macdonald novel (wherein the lead character was named Archer). Transplanted from Southern California to the bayous of Louisiana, Harper is up to his aw-shucks smile in trouble while investigating a blackmail plot which involves his former lady-friend (Joanne Woodward), a Southern belle from a prominent New Orleans family living under the thumb of an oppressive matriarch. An intimidating letter soon turns to murder, and the suspects include: the woman's nubile daughter (Melanie Griffith), a wealthy fat-cat (Murray Hamilton), and even the police chief (Tony Franciosa, sporting an oddball walrus mustache). Strictly TV-detective stuff, polished by the classy cast and Gordon Willis' terrific cinematography. It looks good and goes down smoothly, but doesn't leave a trace of itself behind. ** from ****