Chandler

Former private eye-turned-security guard ditches his latest droning job and is immediately offered a chance to return to his previous profession. His assignment: to tail a mysterious French woman newly arrived in California...and apparently wanted by suit-and-tie racketeers. Unsuccessful attempt to update the noir genre hasn't enough sting or wit (or involving plot dynamics) in its screenplay. Director and co-scenarist Paul Magwood (who later claimed the picture was edited without his involvement) doesn't give off the impression of having high regard for the '40s films his "Chandler" was borne from; his nostalgia is appropriately rumpled, but also bitter-tinged and somewhat indifferent. The handling is curiously, commendably low-keyed, and Warren Oates is well-cast as this variant on the 'private dick' archetype, but the movie just doesn't have any snap. Nice to see Leslie Caron and Gloria Grahame in the cast--though neither has much to do, and Caron's hot-and-cold running character is exasperating throughout. Vivid cinematography by Alan Stensvold, nice location shooting, but it fails to come to a boil. *1/2 from ****

This movie is seldom mentioned when people talk about neo noirs of the 70s, and it's not hard to understand why. Despite having a certain femme fatale icon from the 40-50s, nothing good that can be said about "Chandler".

The main problem i have with this movie is that it's just too bland. The dialog isn't even clichéd, it's worse, something out of a townhouse conversation with your wife on a saturday afternoon.

The actors bumble around, probably aware of the turkey they had the luck to sign up for, the action peaces are alright but nothing you haven't seen anywhere else, and the twist, well, there is none.

Also, it's hard to understand what exactly the movie was aiming at, it's not a parody, nor some sort of intellectual analysis of the noirs or a political statement of the 70s America, it's definitely not an action flick either.

Perhaps that's the movie's big problem. Most other noirs are either send-off, parodies or deconstructions of their predecessors, while this one is a "NOIR" just filmed in the 70s. It makes the viewer judge the movie on it's own merits, and lacking any, it sinks, just like the Packard in The Big Sleep.

2/10 for two things, Gloria Grahame and the fact that probably someone was watching this and thought, hey, I could do better, and did.

The "Trivia" page on IMDb claims the filmmakers protested because this film was re-cut by the studio to "simplify the plot". If so, that effort was a total failure, as this is one of the most incoherent narratives I've ever seen in a film -- I'd hate to have seen it before the plot was "simplified."

It's sad to see Warren with so little character to go on that even he can't do anything with the inept material. It's interesting to see Caron in '70s mode instead of her Hollywood-era glamour garb and persona, but it's sad to see her haplessly wander through this doing-a- favor-to-her-producer-husband dreck. She would actually later hook up with and marry the director, instead -- who, you'll note, never directed anything again, but did strictly 1st or 2nd A.D. work in TV from here on out. That oughta tell you enough right there.

I call this "interesting" because I have an automatic fondness for American films of this period, and this role does add perspective to Oates' otherwise fantastic 1971 output (Two- Lane Blacktop, The Hired Hand). But the "1940s detective as fish-out-of-water in 1970s L.A." theme, which is the only thing the movie really has to say, is sold in way too heavy- handed a manner. A similar theme would be far more effectively handled two years later in Altman's The Long Goodbye. And as far as Oates playing a hard-bitten guy on a doomed errand, three years on, he would give his definitive performance in Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia. If you haven't seen those, don't waste your time with this!

TCM did recently show this movie on a typically lazy summer afternoon before the 4th, and from the start, I was looking for some type of story line in which to sink my interest in, but things turned out murky. Its big draw was that it starred the much under-appreciated Warren Oates as some kind of detective who starts asking the big redeeming questions after he can't bring himself to carry out the job of tailing a mysterious woman for a corporate interest. When that plot line eventually became evident, I had the misfortune of falling asleep for just a few moments, and upon awakening, became even less involved as Oates wandered from scene to scene with the intent of discovering why the woman (the capable Leslie Caron) was on everyone's mind. My fault, sure, for nodding off, but unless the viewer is into speculation, this idea is never really revealed which leads to one guessing why her character is so central to the film's plot. Also disconcerting is how effortlessly the scenes wander between Carmel, Calif. and Los Angeles. The film's geography apparently has the two locales next door to one another, but they're not. The action moves too conveniently between them. And when Oakes and Caron end up with an inoperable vehicle yards from the Pacific Ocean under Big Sur's famed Bixby Creek Bridge after appearing to only have pulled off a main highway and onto a dirt road the night before, it appeared as if the producers wanted to get some grand photogenic shot near the end of this floundering mess. For whatever reason, too little too late. Nitpicking, yes, but I'm trying to find something worthy to write about what could have been a very good flick with just a little more pertinent exposition, and if I could, I would have had another joyous detective movie from the glorious '70s to chew on and enjoy.

Raymond Chandler (Warren Oates) quits his security job. Corrupt government official Ross J. Carmady is looking to take control of gangleader John Melchior. Bernie Oakman offers old acquaintance Chandler as a patsy and hires him to protect government witness Katherine Creighton from Melchior without telling her. He befriends her and rescues her from kidnappers.

The name seems to be there to confuse fans of Raymond Chandler who created hard-boiled private eye Philip Marlowe. Chandler is world-wearied but sadly he's lifeless. The movie has nothing. The directions are stiff and without style. It's a sad tired effort. Everybody seems to be moving at half speed. Its production problems are the least of the deficiencies. Carmady's plans are not explained well. The shooting style is horribly stiff. Warren Oates looks uncomfortably small. The story is slower than molasses. Even the car chase is badly done. This is amateur hour.