Le Convoi de la peur

For my money, the original one-sheet for "Sorcerer" is one of the most effective pieces of movie advertising. A cargo truck trying to negotiate its way across a sorely decrepit bridge. Simple, but highly effective. The whole movie is distilled into that one image. Which isn't to say that that's all the movie is, far from it. "Sorcerer" deals in high suspense like a seasoned pro, cavalierly dismissing the laws of physics in favor of truly nail-biting cinema. The whole thing feels doomed, and that sense of dread just builds, baby. It's a movie that spends its first half in set-up, but surprisingly is never boring. And Friedkin milks the gritty atmosphere out of that third-world jungle.

It's been a few days and I still can't get this movie out of my head. It doesn't shake off easily.

8/10

An unfortunate circumstance slipped Sorcerer into the ether. And that circumstance was Star Wars. They were released at the same time and any film up against the Wars of the Stars was dwarfed in comparison. It's terribly unfair as Lucas' success consequently became Friedkin's downfall. Sorcerer is a very good film, a great one in fact. Based upon the same book as the classic French film The Wages of Fear, it's material worth repeating in the perpetually sweaty grit of the 70s. The problem with Wages is that it spent an unnecessary hour and a half on setup. Sorcerer is a bit better, spending an hour instead, but it's much leaner and doesn't waste time. Opening with quick engaging vignettes, I can see how a viewer who wasn't aware of their appearance would feel alienated. They're not exactly necessary but it opens up the world of Sorcerer in a way that it wouldn't do otherwise. It's thanks to its dynamic editing, super quick and super sharp all the time while holding onto the tension.

As a result, the film is like the most thrilling parts of The French Connection put into one volatile barrel. It's a shame that Friedkin doesn't like working with Roy Scheider in hindsight, considering he got him an Oscar nomination for Connection, but I'm a big fan of him. He's a great leading man in All That Jazz, for example. Here, the cast do struggle to stand out and make their mark, but that's because the material doesn't lend itself to personalities and inner struggle. They're best used metaphorically, which Sorcerer doesn't do overtly. Instead, the joy is watching the men's resourcefulness, especially in a sequence where a big trunk is in the way, or the nail-biting bridge scene. What stands out is the remarkable sound design that makes every crunch feel life-threatening. It's a shame the score by Tangerine Dream is so dated, even if it was celebrated at the time. Works at times, doesn't at others. Sorcerer is a rough around the edges movie, but a thrilling ride nevertheless.

8/10

An underrated film with a typically stellar Roy Scheider performance, an eerie Tangerine Dream soundtrack, and brilliant visuals. This film's reputation suffers from its inexplicable title and unfavorable comparisons to the original. But it's useless to compare since this film is an altogether different beast. Friedkin gives it his usual nihilist/fatalist/existential stamp, making it a much darker film than the French version. Very suspenseful and well-made. Made by Friedkin at the height of his powers. His third best film after Exorcist and French Connection.

This film is a worthy successor to "The Exorcist". In an alternate universe, this gritty thriller would have topped the box office and brought crowds to the theatres in 1977. But the studio didn't market it. No one saw it. The movie everyone saw instead that years was "Star Wars". That movie cost $11 million dollars to make. "Sorcerer" cost $12 million dollars to make. I sincerely regret not knowing about the film and trying to see it on the big screen. My first exposure to this film was when it debuted on a cable movie channel in the 1990s. At first, I was convinced that I had screwed up searching the TV listings, because the beginning of this film includes a sequence shot in France, starring French actors, and spoken entirely in French. This didn't fit in the synopsis of the movie I read: 4 desperate men are hired to move explosives through the jungle.

Based on a classic foreign film "Wages of Fear", which I was able to see in a revival theatre, there is a story setup that pushes the tension and almost dares you the audience to live through the experience. The movie begins immediately with a murder, without any setup or dialogue. The movie abruptly cuts to another country and three new characters who commit a terrorist attack. I mention one word as the title of this review, and that is "Riveting". William Friedkin, with a background in documentary filmmaking, directs this sequence with an immediacy that feels real. He achieved this with great success in "The French Connection". Using hand-held style of cinematography, Friedkin popularized this style that has seen a resurgence in recent years (Bourne films).

The French sequence I mentioned has a completely different timbre, as if we switched the channel to another movie with another director. Credit Friedkin for creating a provocative opening sequence that can challenge an audience, and which they find their reward for following the unorthodox setup of the story. I am reminded of the opening sequence of "The Exorcist", which approaches the story with seemingly detached characters, and allows the audience to be intelligent enough to fit the pieces together later.

The fourth sequence returns to New York, and almost feels like an deleted scene from "The French Connection", complete with car chase. Here, we also recognise Roy Scheider, the costar of "The French Connection". Except he is now on the opposite side of the law. Nevertheless, Scheider now is the central character of the film, and it his charisma that is necessary to carry the film through the rough ride ahead. Scheider always has been a good guy character and well liked by audiences. He carries "Jaws" very well. His tough guy role in "Marathon Man" also was memorable. Friedkin makes a deliberate decision to minimise the dialogue in this film, instead letting the action tell the story for us.

With the first act setting up the four main characters, the last being Roy Scheider, now on the run from the mob, we the audience are given the setup as Scheider is told his fate. He is getting on a boat to (presumably) Latin America or South America. An unnamed village in a third world country, through a montage of shots of fantastic cinematography, reveals that it is a corrupt government with a militant leader, and a poor population working for a western oil company. Again, all this exposition is told without a spoken word. There is also a deft approach to the story setting up the oil field explosion. Special care by the filmmakers makes sure each character in the films feels pressure. From the oil field foreman who must keep the quota, to the local police that must manage rioting workers, to the very survival of our four main characters who have bounties on their heads.

The four men are hired to move very volatile explosives to the oil field (the explosives are used to snuff out the flame). Again, the setup of the macguffin, the explosives, is done expertly and causes the audience to twitch, knowing that the slightest slip could cause the nitroglycerin to blow up. As I mentioned, it is at this point that Friedkin dares the audience to live through the experience, as the explosives are driven along a crumbling mountain road that also encounters rivers and jungles. Watching these trucks navigate almost impossible driving conditions is nerve wrecking. Just when you think the truck has negotiated a formidable obstacle, a group of banditos or something else gets in the way.

Watching this film for the first time in a few years (I deliberately held off until I could watch the Blu Ray copy), I was thoroughly entertained at this masterfully constructed thriller. This films should be considered a classic, by way of how expertly the story was told through new but yet entertaining and effective methods. Your heart pounds almost through your chest at times. I was even entertained when we learn the fate of Scheider at the end of the film. A film that successfully maintains tension from almost the very beginning should end the story with something to twist the knot even tighter.

I give this film an 8, a kind of film achievement that can't be duplicated (even though plans have been made for another remake).

Sorcerer's keynote is epitomized early on when introducing Bruno Cremer's wealthy character, living an ivory tower existence, with no reason yet to feel insecure about much. His wife reads to him a war article. He comments, "Just another soldier." She replies, "No one is just anything." Indeed, in William Friedkin's merciless adventures, heroic characters tend to be defined by any and everything contemptible, villains are unknowable, the lines between them are exceedingly vague…and arbitrary. The French Connection, man-versus-man. The Exorcist, man-versus-unexplained. With Sorcerer, man-versus-chance, an indefinable, undetected competitor. The realm of Friedkin's visualization is a perilous, brutal, ethically insolvent one where there bluntly is no God, just randomness, meaninglessness, pure survival.

Unlike Clouzot's incredible original film, Friedkin doesn't allow for easy identification with any of the central figures, and despite Roy Scheider's impressively physical central performance, it remains emotionally aloof. But that doesn't matter. Seeing each man's prior exploits tells so much, voyeuristically, about their behavior when they happen upon each other in the thirsty alien setting where they're all out of their elements. We also see how regular joes can be monsters.

Also, throughout their respective prefaces, Friedkin foretells the boiling dangers awaiting our scandalous foursome, with sardonic counterpoint. Francisco Rabal abandons the hotel in a wrought-iron elevator decorated green, as are the hotel walls. As Amidou and his co-conspirators plan their getaway, they hurriedly study a map. When he chooses "the long way," the suggestion's far more poignant than he realizes. It's also in the early New Jersey fast-sketch that Friedkin's murky jesting emerges: In a church cellar, various priests calculate thousands of dollars, wearing visors, more like bookies than Christ's followes. Armed robbers break in. At the wedding upstairs, the ceremony's priest declares, "Christ abundantly blesses this love." Back to the basement as dollars gush from canvas bags, robbers jam their pouches. Upstairs, "You've strengthened your consent before the Church." Friedkin pushes into bride and groom. The bride has a black eye.

In a Paris café comprising close-ups of enticing culinary delights, Cremer, his wife and their friend babble about substandard lobster in humid South American waters, while Cremer merely half-listens. The truck Scheider runs into has a Meridian Freight insignia. Friedkin's pessimistic joking could be doubled here: Scheider zigzags off a "meridian" in a manufacturing district, a massive water tower dwarfing everything else. He'll eventually find himself in a manufacturing gutter of the world. During his getaway, he passes big color signs promoting things he won't see, have or enjoy again.

A handful of exiles and fugitives from starkly different backgrounds, cultures, nationalities are driven by desperation to go into hiding, working in an obscure oil drilling operation in South America. When fire breaks out of control, they each seize a chance to earn enough money to escape their hellholes, earn citizenship, feel as if they might restore honor, by transporting crates of unstable dynamite through miles of perilous jungle in rusty, rickety old trucks. But this dynamite, negligently stored, literally oozes nitro. Any shock, any vibration, they detonate. Somehow, driving in pairs, these men must carry their cargo past a crumbling rope-suspension bridge, swinging ferociously in a savage storm over a flood-heaving river, a colossal tree blocking the road, and a flock of forlorn, vicious bandits.

The cash sum being rewarded to the drivers is erratic all through the film. The oil company first says they will pay 8,000 pesos to each driver. Later the demand doubles. Later one boasts that he and another one will get double shares of 20,000 each. By the end, a check reads 40,000 pesos which would be just 10,000 each. This seems like one of Friedkin's sadistic impositions of his thematic intentions. We're drawn into circumstances so desperate, so reckless, any amount sounds beautiful, any amount will do, then eventually, returning to any semblance of relatable civilization is all that matters.

Friedkin and screenwriter Walon Green strip the source story's existential themes to the core. Driven by a series of striking images, it ultimately goes one step further than Clouzot by suggesting that humankind is subject not only to the vagaries of fate and nature but to its own vengeful, venal essence. What's so enrapturing about Sorcerer is that the needs and situations that occur, one after another, are so primal, these characters are hairpin turns between murderously divided and collaborating with implicit trust. Friedkin exemplifies the seduction of voyeurism in the very close, detailed but utterly omniscient way we follow each unrelated character to this godforsaken place, where they know absolutely nothing of each other, but we've seen them all in their respective realms of normalcy, the shameful predicaments that got them here. But just as well, we're ever so subtly implicated in the vengeful, venal, not in what we see but what we find ourselves expecting. Take for example the riot that erupts in the street after the oil explosion. The townspeople are violent, frenzied, relentless, but Friedkin leaves out the authorities' retaliation. And we expect it…indeed, we begin to want it, relate to it. It's a disturbing feeling.

Friedkin loves to show mechanisms, the down and dirty way things work, as in the montage with minor-key synth music showing the rag-tag bunch preparing trucks. It makes us that much more conscious of the threadbare fragility of the utterly extraordinary ensuing action sequences, most notably the hazardous rainstorm crossing of the fragile rope-bridge. No matter how much these men exert themselves to cover every corner, suspect everyone, spot every detail, do whatever they can to ensure their survival, they never have any control over their own fates, not how they got into this mess or how or if they get out of it. They don't all speak the same language, none of them trust or even understand one another, or even use their real names. Even if they do succeed, or some, or none, they have about as much control over their deaths as they do their births.