Sidney Lumet’s Serpico is an exemplar of a certain brand of character-based social realism that Hollywood excelled at in the 1970s, as well as an essential time capsule of New York City during the same period. Eschewing the backstory of detective Frank Serpico (Al Pacino) and keeping things firmly anchored in his time with the NYPD, the film builds character less by regurgitating facts and events than through gritty verisimilitude. This enlivens the clashes that arise from Frank’s offbeat humor, counterculture-friendly fashion sense, and unwavering morality as he butts heads with institutional powers that value conformity and blind allegiance above all else.
The conflicts that Frank finds himself involved in begin small, like when he refuses the offer for free creamed chicken at a local diner and instead orders a roast beef sandwich, much to the chagrin of both the owner and Frank’s partner (Al Henderson), who expect him to simply shut up and take what’s given to him. In many films, this would be a throwaway scene, but the filmmakers slyly present it as the first of many examples of Frank’s intense individual desires and unrelenting stubbornness—the very things that quickly make him dangerous to other cops, even in the seemingly most innocuous of situations.
For as grimy and tough as the streets of the city appear throughout Serpico, there’s perhaps no greater danger here than the NYPD itself and its commitment to insularity. For a while, Frank is willing to look the other way at fellow cops beating suspects and taking payoffs, but as it’s revealed that these tactics are standard operating procedure—rather than the practices of a few bad apples—his unwillingness to play ball becomes a rising threat to the status quo.
Frank’s passivity itself is weaponized by his co-workers because his unwillingness to indulge in corruption marks him as an outsider with the potential to become a rat. As Frank moves into undercover work, his status as an outlier only grows more apparent. His shaggy haircuts, long mustaches, and ever-evolving wardrobe of hip clothes visibly mark him as a man who doesn’t adhere to, or even respect, the conventional traits of masculinity and long-standing traditions that surreptitiously indicate someone in the force as a guy you can trust.
Serpico understands that an institution’s urging for unshakeable loyalty has nothing to do with actually supporting good policing, but rather a willingness to grease the wheels of corruption and always shield police officers against claims of misconduct. The filmmakers present this corruption as so deeply ingrained within the police department, and running all the way up to the commissioner (George Ede), that Frank’s noncompliance effectively makes him a broken gear in a massive, smoothly running, and highly profitable political machine.
What makes Serpico such a fascinating study of police corruption, though, isn’t just its depiction of a battle between the moral outsider and the shady insiders. Rather, it’s the extreme lengths to which Frank must go to even expose the corruption that surrounds him. Across his 11 years with the force, which are efficiently traced in the film through brisk, elliptical editing, Frank is forced to navigate the labyrinthine bureaucracy that protects and insulates the NYPD. He confides in his friend and fellow cop, Bob Blair (Tony Roberts), and his superior, Captain McClain (Biff McGuire), but even through them, he’s repeatedly led toward dead ends and fed false promises that he’ll be protected and his cooperation in internal investigations will lead to actual change.
Unsurprisingly, Frank must go outside the department to get anything done—resulting in the Knapp Commission, which exposed the widespread corruption within the NYPD to the public. But Serpico doesn’t celebrate this as a victory of good over evil, or of a David heroically taking down a Goliath. Even someone as fiercely determined as Frank not only has his life virtually destroyed, but had to survive a bullet to the face before anyone really listened to him. If anything, it was sheer luck that Frank survived long enough to inspire change, and Lumet’s film makes it crystal clear that for every Frank Serpico, there are likely dozens, even hundreds, who succumbs to the threats and pressures of a system fully designed, and armed, to protect itself from anyone not willing to adhere to the blue wall of silence.
Image/Sound
Kino Lorber’s brand new transfer comes from a 4K scan of the 35mm original camera negative. Skin tones are naturalistic and colors are rich while still staying true to the desaturated look that Sidney Lumet and cinematographer Arthur J. Ornitz were after. Image detail is particularly impressive, especially in the grimy textures the director captured in the streets of New York City. Low-lit scenes are frequent, but the strong contrast and diverse range of colors ensures the maximum visual information is discernible throughout. As for the audio, the 5.1 surround sound is quite immersive, featuring clear separations between the constant background noise in busy exteriors and police precincts and the dialogue and foreground sounds of the actors.
Extras
Film historians Howard S. Berger, Steve Mitchell, and Nathaniel Thompson provide an excellent new audio commentary that’s certain to delight fans of Lumet, Al Pacino, and ’70s New York-based films alike. The trio do a deep dive into the filming locations throughout the city, going as far as pointing out when Manhattan locations are used for scenes taking place in the Bronx and Brooklyn, and discuss Lumet’s skill at shooting on the streets. They also talk about how, even after The Godfather, it was Serpico that shot Pacino to stardom. They also pay loving tribute to Phil Karlson’s The Phenix City Story, which heavily influenced Serpico.
The remaining extras are all archival StudioCanal-produced features, the best of which is a 30-minute interview with Lumet, focusing primarily on his various approaches to shooting New York City. A separate featurette delves further into Lumet’s production methods, particularly his skill at shooting fast and efficiently and bringing film’s in under budget. Producer Martin Bregman shows up In Serpico: From Real to Reel to discuss the genesis of the film and how he convinced Dino De Laurentis to help get the film off the ground, and appears again in another brief extra where he and Lumet share their favorite scenes in the film. Lastly, there’s a 30-minute documentary about Pacino’s extensive research and preparation for his role as Frank Serpico and a short video with Lumet talking about his sparing use of music in the film.
Overall
Half a century later, Sidney Lumet’s Serpico has lost none of its urgency and relevance.
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