For the uninitiated, All The President's Men, directed by Alan J Pakula, tells the story of the Washington Post's investigation into the Watergate scandal. It is based on the book by the two reporters Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, who are portrayed in the film by Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman respectively.
This is less a political thriller than a detective story, told largely from the perspective of the newspaper and its staff. There are some fascinating sub-plots, dealing with the relationship between Woodward and Bernstein, and the power struggles and infighting within the editorial staff as the story assumes greater gravity.
As anyone with any knowledge of the Watergate case can testify, this is a very complex story, but the producers do a laudable job of distilling the bewildering quantity of information into digestible form, without dumbing things down.
One of the strengths of this movie is the manner in which the intricacies of the plot are unveiled creepingly and gradually, and carrying the viewer on the journey, allowing them to deduce the ramifications of each morsel of evidence which is uncovered. Any moves to clarify and explain ambiguities are done subtly and discreetly.
Clever and effective use is also made of lighting, sets and locations to help communicate the atmosphere of menace, fear and oppression surrounding the case and the investigation. Again, this is done with finesse and moderation, not drawing attention to itself, but seeping into the consciousness of the viewer.
Imagery and metaphor are employed sparingly and judiciously, almost to the point where they can pass by unnoticed. An example of this is the scene where Woodward and Bernstein are exiting the Library of Congress, and the reflection of the Capitol buildings is seen on the glass door just as Bernstein pushes it open somewhat disdainfully. Also, the part where the journalists emerge from the Department of Justice, at a point in the story where official collusion in the cover-up is becoming apparent. The camera shot (from a distance) shows the two men as tiny figures set against the monolithic edifice of this organ of the state, and thereby depicts the scale of the machinery ranged against them.
On a few occasions, key stages in the journalistic investigation are juxtaposed with major developments in the political arena. A few chronological liberties may have been taken there, but this is no major criticism, as it is well done and adds to the strength of the overall narrative.
The early stages of the film, where the first strands of evidence are amassed, could in other hands have been dull and prosaic, but here they are lent great power and impact, via a combination of acting, camera work and set design. The scenes where Woodward makes endless telephone enquiries are a case in point. He is surrounded by the general hubbub of the office, those people being oblivious of the import of what he is discovering. These scenes also serve to breezily condense into a dramatic form lots of data and detail which might otherwise have proved dry and stodgy.
Although I'm not sure whether the film outwardly sets out to analyse the relationship between Woodward and Bernstein in any great detail, this dynamic does bubble beneath the surface, and is actually one of the joys of the piece. At the outset, Woodward is seen to be eager, deferential, naive even, but as some of his illusions are shattered in the white-heat of the investigation, he becomes more hardened and jaded. In the early stages, Bernstein is portayed as more cynical and street-wise.
As the magnitude of the story becomes ever clearer, the two men are brought closer together, at least partly overcoming their differences and achieving a tolerable working relationship, reasoning that the momentous task at hand should transcend any petty squabbles.
One other sub-plot is the attitude of the paper's editorial staff, and the infighting which develops to gain control over the story. Not everyone on the paper is immediately convinced of the story's merits, but eventually the diligence of the young reporters, and the potential threat to the status of the newspaper have their effect. Jason Robards ably plays the role of Ben Bradlee.
On the subject of performances, the one delivered here by Robert Redford may be one of his most under-rated. He is able to evoke the subtle changes in the outlook and approach of his character quite convincingly. Hoffman has not always been my cup of tea, but he does a fair job of making his character appear more nonchalant and worldly-wise than Woodward early on.
As the investigation gathers pace, we are shown some of the novel methods employed by the reporters to obtain information. This is lightened by them sometimes being presented as amusing episodes. Examples of this are the visit by Bernstein to the District Attorney's office in Florida, and the visits to the houses of employees of the Committee to Re-Elect the President.
In addition, we see the contrasting methods used by the two reporters, from the facts-based stance of Woodward, and the gut-feeling sometimes favoured by Bernstein. It seems that as matters went on, each began to assume some elements of the other's approach, which were complementary.
Of course, many people remember this movie primarily for the role of "Deep Throat", Woodward's government source. The scenes involving Deep Throat are some of the most affecting in the whole movie, with the underground car park where the meetings took place providing a suitably eerie and shadowy backdrop. Initially, Deep Throat is reticent and dismissive, but as matters become graver he shows more despair and weariness, perhaps opening up when he realises the sincerity and resolve of the journalists.
Deep Throat's exhortation to "follow the money" sees the film move up a gear. Officialdom, even that which on the surface would normally be sympathetic, is uncooperative and obstructive. The scene where Woodward establishes the financial link between CREEP and the Watergate burglars is pivotal, Redford acutely projecting the anxiety and excitement of the moment. Nerves and euphoria are both palpable.
The latter stages of All The President's Men are quite bleak in places, as the paranoia escalates, and the tone and ambience grow darker.
The movie thankfully makes allowances for some powers of deduction among its audience. There is some exposition, naturally, but this is not excessive. There is intelligence, deftness, but also accessibility.
All The President's Men is not always mentioned in the same breath as the other classic American movies of the 1970s, but it should be.....
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