The Conversation - THE Seventies Paranoia Classic?

 

Union Square, San Francisco. Daytime. Crowds. The view from high. A band plays ‘When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob, Bob, Bobbin' Along’. A mime custard pies and glass walls people. The audio bounces and glitches electronically. Mimicking a dog, the mime does drunk, finally settling on a man in a raincoat drinking a coffee. Raincoat walks off, perhaps slightly unsettled to find the mime is following, duplicating his movements as he walks. Tiring of the game, the mime goes off in search of richer pickings. Under the City Paris store sign, a sniper crouches. The long black tube on the tripod isn’t a weapon, it’s a rifle microphone. A sound sniper then. Through the crosshairs of the eyepiece, he watches his targets, a young couple strolling together in the winter sunshine. 

 

VARIOUS SHOTS FROM THE SCENE (NOT A MONTAGE FROM THE ACTUAL MOVIE)

 

Down at ground level, the two continue their conversation as they mingle with the crowd, raincoat man again. Their words come and go, lost and found amidst the background and the chatter, electronics finding and losing their voices. A man with a hearing aid drifts along. They pause to look at a drunk sprawled unconscious on a bench. Terrible. ‘He’s not hurting anyone.’ ‘Neither are we.’

Raincoat strides across the street to a parked Econoline van. The Pioneer Glass and Sign company. He knocks on the rear doors and is let in as the girl observes Bench was once somebody’s baby boy. 

Inside the cramped interior, two workbenches and a profused jumble of recording and surveillance apparatus, a younger man in headphones sitting at his post, portable UHER reel to reel tape machines dutifully recording every word of the conversation. Raincoat asks his associate how City Paris is doing. Better than 40%. How about second position? Across the square, a parabolic reflector microphone juts from an open window. ‘It’s not so good’ observes Headphones.

A LOBBY CARD SHOWING THE SCENE

A couple of girls spot the mirrored glass panels on the side of the van, using it to freshen up their makeup. ‘Oh-ho what have we here?’ Spotting some sport, ‘Phones grabs a still camera ‘Ok come on you little babies, now wet your lips there.’ Raincoat admonishes him to return his attention to his recordings. The female target, however is suspicious of the man with the hearing aid; he’s been following them, she’s sure of it. Headphones remarks ‘That’s it for Paul. They spotted him.’ Raincoat asks for the ‘phones. Hearing Aid Paul taps on the van to be let in, remarking ‘I got burned Harry – She looked at me’. They heard. He got some good pieces though, 25% maybe. Raincoat – Harry, takes a Christmas present from Hearing Aid Paul’s bag, sliding it open to reveal a portable cassette recorder with a transmitter concealed inside. He tells Paul he’ll call him if he needs him again and pays him off in cash. ‘Phones asks if Paul’s going to the convention tomorrow. They could have a party like two years ago. Maybe. Paul takes his leave and Stan – ‘Phones, remarks Paul’s a nice guy for a cop.

The crosshairs do their work as, alone in the van again, Stan wonders who’s interested in the couple. He figures the Infernal Revenue. Harry’s not sure, or interested; all he wants is a nice fat recording. With a tender kiss, the couple part company, the girl hurrying to be somewhere leaving the young man to wander aimlessly in the square. Show’s over. The parabolic is withdrawn, the van drives off leaving Harry on the sidewalk. He removes his raincoat, his working uniform and leaves. For home.

Groceries in hand, Harry takes the stairs to his apartment, a passing neighbor wishing him a Happy Birthday, getting an awkward nod of acknowledgement. A private man, then. Also paranoid; it takes three keys to open his door. An alarm buzzer sounds, only to be switched off as he finds a present; a bottle left inside his door. Happy Birthday, Harry. He calls Mrs. Evangelista downstairs, thanking her for her gift and wondering how she put it inside his door. He thought he had the only key? Emergency? He’d be happy to let his personal things burn up in a fire because he doesn’t have personal things. Nothing of value. How did she know it was his birthday? His mail? From now it goes to a post office box with a combination and no keys.

Here’s Harry Caul, then. Alone, playing sax along to a record. Jazz. Alone.

Next morning, bright, early, Harry takes his raincoat for a walk, taking the elevator up to his workshop in a 16^th Street loft. Stan’s already there, noting an article in Security World about the convention naming Harry as one of the notables who’ll be present. Harry replies he told them he’d be there. Stan wants to discuss the article; noting William P. Moran will be there, the man who told Chrysler Cadillac were discontinuing their fins - but Harry’s at work, flipping through some black and white glossy stills taken of the surveillance job on the young couple before cueing up three reel to reel machines with tapes from the operatives he deployed round the square. Seeing Harry’s got his work head on, Stan dons a blue work coat to take his place at the bench.

Harry works the tapes, prising more details of the conversation. A discussion about Christmas presents. Who gets what. The audio from Paris City, Shopping bag mixed to get the best takes. The young man asks the girl if it bothers her, walking around in circles, right when they passed Harry sat on his bench, just before they spotted Bench guy sprawled across his. Now the audio comes from the parabolic up in the window, audible for once and clear.

Later, Harry steps off a tram to use a payphone. He dials a number and asks for The Director, he has his material ready. The Director’s left for the day. The voice the other end asks for his number, but he lies that he doesn’t have a home telephone. Cautious. After a pause, he gets an appointment for the next day.

That night Harry takes another tram to see his girl, Amy. He lets himself in with a key, doesn’t knock. He brought the wine his landlady gave him. For his birthday. She didn’t know; how old is he? Forty two. Smiling, she wonders if he’ll share any of his secrets, as it’s his birthday. He doesn’t have any secrets. She thinks otherwise; once she saw him up on the staircase, hiding, watching. A whole hour. He thinks he’ll catch her at something. A woman can always tell. To Harry’s visible disquiet, she says she sometimes thinks he listens in on her telephone. Absently, she sings a few notes of ‘Red Robin’ and, suspicious of co-incidence, Harry wants to know why. Because it’s pretty. Amy worries about this, but Harry tells her someone at work was singing this today. He goes to kiss her, but she asks where he works. ‘Oh, different places, different jobs you know? I’m kind of, uh a musician you see…’ She wonders where he lives, why she can’t ever call. He doesn’t have a telephone. Does he live alone? Why is she asking all these questions? Because it’s his birthday. He doesn’t want people asking him questions. Yes, he lives alone. He gets off the bed. He doesn’t feel like answering any more questions. Noting her rent is due, Harry leaves the money and goes to leave, his ardour dampened despite the raincoat he kept on the whole time. Sadly, Amy tells him she was happy when she heard him unlock the door, but she doesn’t think she’ll wait for him any more.

TERI GARR IS AMY, HARRY'S GIRL

Alone on the tram, Harry finds his thoughts straying to the young couple in the square. The lights go out and the tram sits motionless for a moment, then the lights are back and the tram in motion again, carrying him along with it.

One Embarcadero Center. Harry arrives with the package for The Director. The receptionist says he’ll take it, but Harry is to hand it to him personally. He has an appointment. He’s told to make himself comfortable; The Director’s assistant will be right down.

                 THE DIRECTOR'S ASSISTANT IS PLAYED BY A YOUNG HARRISON FORD.

The Director’s assistant escorts Harry along a corridor with incredible views of the city to a plush outer office. The assistant offers him one of the Christmas cookies that he made before leaving Harry to peruse the cookies and the telescope mounted by the window. Returning, the assistant catches Harry off-guard, taking the package and leaving his money, $15,000. Harry is agitated by this; his arrangement was to hand it over personally. The assistant sympathises, but says The Director’s out of the country. He asked him to get the tapes and give him the money. Rising from his seat, harry places the money on the desk and makes a grab for the package, but Han – I mean the assistant is persistent. 

 

‘Now look. Don’t get involved in this Mister Caul. These tapes are dangerous. You know what I mean, someone may get hurt.’ Leaving with the package, Harry waits at the elevator bank. Two young executives are in discussion, one of them is the man from the square. The assistant is holding Harry’s cash expectantly, but he takes the next elevator. 

 

Next stop and he’s crowded, but the people leave only for the girl to get in. Awkwardly, as if worried it would betray its secrets, Harry clutches the package tightly. He’s left alone with her and if he could run, he would.

Back at his workshop, Harry sits to listen to the tapes again. ‘What about me?’ ‘You’ll see’ ‘Whew! Lotta fun you are’ ‘When the red-red robin goes bob-bob bobbin’ along’ Frowning, he tries to find some meaning in the words. Anxious now, the girl; ‘Pretend like I just told you a joke’ Insincere laughter from the young man. ‘Does it bother you?’ ‘What?’ ‘Walking around in circles’ Then the Bench guy again. Stan suggests they take a break. Al’s Transbay for a beer. Harry wants to finish this. Stan though he turned the tapes in, but Harry asks him to be quiet. The reels go round again. ‘Do you think we can do this?’ ‘I’m tired of drinking anyhow’ ‘What a stupid conversation!’ Stan again. ‘Stanley, I’m trying to get this done.’ ‘All right, don’t get excited’ ‘Well I’m getting fed up.’ About what? About being asked questions all day long. When Stan exclaims ‘Jesus!’ Harry berates him; he doesn’t like profanity, using that name in vain. ‘What’s the matter Harry?’ ‘Your work’s getting’ sloppy’.

Reels rotate. ‘Later in the week. Sunday, maybe’ ‘Sunday definitely’ Jittery now, Harry tells Stan they’d have a much better track if he paid attention to the recording than what they were talking about. Stan persists; he can’t see why Harry’s so out of joint over a few questions. ‘Cause I can’t sit here and explain the personal problems of my clients.’ ‘Jack Tar hotel. Three o’clock’ ‘Room Seven Seven Three’ The young man to the girl. Hurt, Stan feels Harry could fill him in a bit once in a while. ‘It has nothing to do with me and even less to do with you.’

Stan gets on his motor scooter and rides to the lift. ‘I think he’s been recording my telephone.’ The young man thinks they’ve been spending too long here, in the square, she wants to stay a bit longer. Then he says something that the mic doesn’t pick up, the audio an electronic bongled-garbled mess. Frustrated, Harry plugs in a bypass filter to try to pick out the detail, fine-tuning each pass until… ‘He’d kill us if he got the chance.’ ‘He’d kill us if he got the chance.’ Jesus indeed...

Harry takes confession, telling the grille he’s taken the Lord’s name in vain, newspapers without paying and pleasure in impure thoughts. He’s been involved in some work that he thinks may be used to hurt these two young people. It’s happened to him before; people were m-hurt because of his work and he’s afraid it could happen again. And he was in no way responsible, is not responsible... Frustrated, he ends with the formal ‘For these and all my sins of my past life, I am heartily sorry’

At the convention, Harry gets a chance to see what the industry is offering. Various outfits are represented by reps in variously-hideous outfits selling various boxes to spy on people, alarm units that tell you which door has been ‘violated’ clocks with hidden cameras. Pausing at SPECTRE Security Products Inc (Volcano Cat assures us this is coincidence) 

 

 

Harry’s attention drifts, but the sleepy rep tells him about their automatic recorder actuator, assuring him it doesn’t start recording when no-one’s talking or shut off in the middle of an important conversation. ‘Anything like the Moran actuator?’ Confidentially, the rep informs Harry the Moran E-27 is a copy. He won’t even let Moran smell his equipment any more. Sleepy asks for a name and address, before realising he’s speaking to Harry Caul. Not believing his luck, he offers Harry a free unit – just so they can tell people Harry Caul uses their stuff. Declining politely, Harry explains he makes all his own equipment.

Harry pauses before the Gimbel Security Cameras, Inc booth to see how he looks on cctv. Suddenly, he spots Stett – The Director’s assistant, captured on camera. He follows him with the camera, then loses him before clicking back to an image of himself. Being the object of surveillance seems to discomfit Harry Caul.

PAUL, HARRY'S MOONLIGHTING ASSOCIATE IS PLAYED BY MICHAEL HIGGINS.

 

Harry goes to a presentation in the auditorium, but no sooner has he found a seat than he’s pigeon-holed by Paul, the cop who does work for him as required. He takes him to meet William P. Moran, of Moran and Associates. The man who told Chrysler about the Caddy fins. Harry’s heard this. 

 

ALLEN GARFIELD IS THE OBNOXIOUS MORAN.

Moran puts on a little show, with a blond In hotpants doing the ‘Ditzy-Demo’ routine, showing off his gizmo, the Moran S-15 harmonica tap. It’s a device that turns a telephone handset into a room microphone, undetectable. Just dial the number, pausing before the last digit and blow the harmonica gizmet into the phone. Moran’s sales patter wouldn’t look out of place on a carnival midway. As a gimmick, he’s got one rigged in his home and goes through a pantomime of dialling home and using the gizmet. The phone doesn’t ring and the sounds of ‘Mrs. Moran’ speaking to her ‘lover’ come through, a little April Fool for the crowd. After his little spiel, Moran comes over to ask Paul and Harry’s opinion, dismissing his own device as ‘Good for the catalog suckers’ before giving each a free pen, tucking them into their top pockets.

THE SUPERB JOHN CAZALE IS STAN.

Moran then calls over Stan, telling him to mind the booth. Stan’s in a Moran blazer too, much to Paul’s surprise and Harry’s disappointment. Moran and Paul go off for a drink, Harry tells them to go ahead. He tries to talk Stan back to working for him, but Stan wants to move up, complaining Harry keeps everything to himself. He appeals to Stan not to do this to him now, before levelling about someone following him. Who? He claims he doesn’t know, something to do with the assignment last week. Stan relents and they shake hands. Before he goes, Harry taps the Moran stand with an observation. ‘Junk.’

LOBBY CARD OF THE SCENE

By a scale model of – of all places, Union Square, harry goes to a payphone to call Amy. Her number’s been disconnected and enquiries has no listing for her. Harry hangs up for his ten cents, then spots Stett seated across from him. 

 

Harry goes to leave, before furiously stalking up his stalker to demand ‘What are you doing here?’ The assistant tells him to take it easy, offering him a drink. He’s just a messenger. Why is he following him? ‘I’m not following you, I’m looking for you.’ How did he know where to find him? It’s a wiretapper’s convention. Harry insists he’s not giving the tapes to anyone, but The Director. The message? The man himself wants the tapes delivered, Sunday, one o’clock. ‘You tell him I’ll think about it.’

Paul screeches up in his car and the group piles in, keen to continue the party, Harry awkwardly sandwiched in between Moran’s demo-girl and his door. A Boss Mustang wants to race and Paul gives chase, calling a 10-28 in on the car’s radio-phone before leaving the occupants of the Mustang with some personalised verbal abuse. Perks of the job.

Somewhat against his nature, Harry takes the party back to his workshop, playfully leading the race to the cage before quietly going over to his bench to lock some blueprints away. After all, he’s brought the competition home. Unable to help himself, Moran rides Harry with a gag about a lonely hearts column he read – ‘Lonely and Anonymous’; he thought it was Harry. Exuberant, full of bonhomie Moran proposes a toast to Harry – the best bugger on the West Coast. Moran claims to be the best on the East, then remarks it’s funny they never bumped into each other in New York. Stan is surprised; he didn’t know Harry was from NYC. Moran’s curious about one job Harry cracked; the Welfare Fund job back in ‘68. How did he know about that? Everybody in the business knew about it, but no-one could figure how he did it. Harry’s saved by the arrival of Blondie, who knocks her head tipsily on a hanging scale as she asks him to dance. Moran’s clearly pissed; he wants to know about the Welfare Fund thing.

Moran has the tenacity of a shark, telling Harry he tapped his first phone at age twelve. For six months, no-one had a clue who it was – his father was proud as Hell when he knew. Paul and Stan play a prank on the phone and Moran remarks Harry’s scrambler is obsolete, but Blondie is leading the man himself off, determined to snag him. She gets to work; where’s he from? New York? She lived in New York… But Harry is already alone, walking in his own empty space, despite her efforts at allure. 

 

YES, ANOTHER LOBBY CARD... ELIZABETH MAC RAE PLAYS MEREDITH.

 Her question ‘Do you live far from here?’ falls on deaf ears. He has a question; is she still married? Probably. Last time she heard. He was trying to scrape enough money for another hardware store. She ended up in San Francisco, without a job. And that’s her life to date. He touches her glass. Hurt, she feels he doesn’t like her, doesn’t want to talk. ‘I didn’t say that.’ She sees he’s preoccupied, wishes he felt he could talk to her and that they could be friends.

 

Just then, Stan rolls up on his Vespa, Paul riding pillion and shouting out a joke as they go. The mood lightened, Harry and Meredith dance together. Like kids, the group has fun, Meredith jumping on for a ride. Even Harry seems caught up in the mood, but then he walks away with his drink. Even at his bench there’s no escaping Moran though; he tells Harry about a job he did bugging a political nominee, a Presidential candidate - everywhere he went he was there bugging his calls. He lost. Stan is listening and asks harry about the time he put a bug in a parakeet. Irritably, Moran notes parakeets aren’t his thing – he wants to know about the teamster local back in ‘68. An associate of his, Milt, asks about it. It was all over the front pages; Harry was working for the Attorney General’s office at the time. To Harry’s obvious discomfort, Moran persists – the president of the teamsters set up a phoney welfare fund, only two people seemed to know the details, the president and his accountant. They only discussed business on a boat, on fishing trips. No way to bug the conversations – yet Harry did just that. Nobody knows how. Caused a Hell of a scandal, too. Why? Asks the crony. Three people were murdered. Harry says it was nothing to do with him; he just turned in the tapes. Unpleasantly, Moran gives the details; the accountant, his wife and kid were found, naked, bound. Their heads were found in different places.

Harry insists what they did with the tapes was their own business. Moran states it’s the first he heard of Harry Caul; next thing he’d moved out of New York. He wants to know how he did the job. Stan, meanwhile is running one of the tapes from the square, the band playing. Angry, Harry tells him to turn it off. ‘They ought to hear this Harry, it’s the best thing you’ve ever done!’ Eager to steal a secret from the great Harry Caul, Moran wants to know what the tape’s about. Indiscreetly Stan lets on it’s the assignment Harry had this week, and claims it will make History. Moran makes a boast and a challenge; ‘I bet you there's no moment between human beings that I cannot record,
and there's no method that I cannot figure out. I could figure out any of Harry's schemes, right?
Come on, come on. Try me...’ 

 

 

Determined now, Stan shows a chalkboard map of the Union Square job, explaining the challenges involved. Over at his bench, Harry is looking at the glossies of the young couple as Stan continues. He challenges Moran; how would he do it? Well, first of all, one system wouldn’t do it. Moran’s thought is to rig their clothes for sound. No way of telling what clothes they’ll choose… Then a ‘drunk’ bumping into them, to plant a pin mike… Too risky; they’ve been bugged before. Moran thinks he has it; hire a lip reader, with binoculars. No; Stan adds the client wants their actual voice, to believe what’s being said, to hear it for themselves. Moran muses it must have been an expensive show. Milt wonders if it was ‘us’ - the ‘us’ being the Federal Government. Private party. Moran’s view is it would take at least four passes. Unable to resist showboating, Harry interjects; he did it in three.

Exuding pride, Harry elaborates; ‘Three-stage directional microphones with MOSFET amplifier of my own design. And we got another twenty percent conventionally, just tailing them.’ Throwing his arm around his accomplice, he adds ‘Paul did.’ Grudgingly, Moran allows himself a ‘Beautiful’. ‘It was a work of art’ adds Stan.

Carried along with Stan’s exuberance, Harry remarks the new microphones are incredible – able to catch every word from 200 yards away. Milt’s wife asks what the young couple had done, Harry doesn’t know – more interested in the technical aspects of the job again. Teasingly, he shows Moran a glimpse of the rifle mic from the job. The shark in Moran – never far below the surface is apparent now as, hungrily he suggests Harry partners with him, all he needs is a quick look at Harry’s plans and devices… they could make a fortune selling stuff to Uncle Sam… Harry dismisses him with an appalling joke about gay wiretappers. Nose firmly out of joint now, Moran grumbles he’s talking millions, but Harry’s making jokes – As Harry asks Paul if he can cut in, grabbing him for a dance instead of Meredith.

As Harry takes Meredith into his arms again, Moran persists; fifty-fifty. Harry says he doesn’t need anyone. She wonders about that, but Paul snatches at her dress (In a playful move that might have passed in the Seventies, but which hasn’t dated any better than Harry’s gay joke)

Moran decides this is the moment, producing a portable Nagra recorder to play Harry’s conversation with Meredith back. The pen he slipped into his pocket earlier… remember? What does he think of that? He thinks he’d better turn it off and leave. Moran tries to pass it off as a joke, ‘for Christ’s sake’ but being bugged is too much for Harry – Stan informs him Harry doesn’t like profanity. Worried, Paul asks Harry what’s wrong, unable to see the cause of his quiet rage. Moran tries to make amends, offering Harry the recorder as a gift, but he just snaps the pen-mic in two, throwing it to the floor. The party is over. Harry takes his convention badge off his jacket, tossing that too.

Only Meredith remains, watching as Harry plays the tape again. She asks him to turn it off; but he’s unable to. Transfixed, he stands and mutters; ‘She’s frightened. This is where, she’s frightened. This is no ordinary conversation.’ Harry stands, hooked like a fish on the meaning of the young couple’s words. They’re discussing a third party, the girl doesn’t know what to get him for Christmas. He doesn’t need anything any more. Harry doesn’t know what, but it makes him feel… something. Persistent, Meredith tells him to forget it; it’s only a trick. He’s not meant to feel anything about it, he’s just supposed to do it. Finally, she resorts to THE weapon; her sexuality, kissing Harry with passion, trying to provoke a response. He stands there, unable to escape the tape. ‘Oh God.’ Listen – to the way she says ‘Oh God...’ She leads Harry across to the bed, as the girl’s voice plays. I think he was once somebody's baby boy…

Meredith undresses as Harry waits on the bed. Who started this conversation, anyhow? You did. Did not. Yes, you did. You just don't remember it… Naked now, Meredith joins Harry on the bed, but he’s in the square again, reciting the words burning through his brain. He’d kill us… He’d kill us if he had the chance. ‘Oh God, what have I done?’ Harry whispers that he has to destroy the tapes; ‘I can’t let it happen again.’ Trying to comfort this lost soul, Meredith caresses his face. Confessor and lover; ‘A family was murdered because of me.’ She says ‘I know.’ ‘Oh, God. There's no protection.
I follow them wherever they're going. And I can hear them.’ Finally, the tape ends, merciful as release.

A PHOTO FROM THE DREAM SEQUENCE THAT NEVER MADE IT INTO THE MOVIE; MAYBE WE DREAMED THIS?

Even in his dreams, the conversation echoes and reverberates, the dream lucid, real-surreal, the girl seeking flight up an escape of steps, escape up a flight of Harry following. He calls to the girl through a mist; tells her his name. Can she hear him? Tells her not to be afraid. In his sleep, Harry murmurs to the mist-shrouded figure that he was sick as a boy, paralysed down one side, he recalls his mother putting him in a hot bath, of nearly drowning when she went to answer the door – how disappointed he was to have survived. He recalls a childhood incident, punching a friend of his father in the stomach, no reason…

IT'S ANOTHER MONTAGE!

Now Harry is at room 773, the Jack Tar Hotel. The Director is murdering the girl, bloody murder. He wakes, to find Meredith gone. Tired, cold, he wanders over to the bench. To find the tape gone too. Bitch.

At home, Harry rings The Director’s office, asking for Stett, his assistant. That won’t be possible now. He’s told they’ll get back to him. ‘You don’t have my telephone number!’

Harry is in the bathroom when it rings. The telephone. The telephone never rings. No-one has the number. It rings off, then again. It’s Martin Stett. How did they get the number? We prepare a full dossier on everyone who comes into contact with The Director. You know that means we’ve been watching you. We have the tapes. They’re perfectly safe. The director was very anxious to hear them as soon as possible. You seemed to be... I don't know... Disturbed. I couldn't take the chance that you might destroy our tapes. You understand, don't you, Mr. Caul? Our tapes have nothing to do with you. Why don't you come over now and bring the photographs?

This time no-one shows Harry the way. Does it bother you, walking round in circles? Is the young man on the tape talking to the girl or to Harry? Oh God… He finds the door marked ‘Private’ and walks in, no-one answering his knock, to hear the tape playing, Stett standing over the machine. A Doberman follows him through the door, licking it’s lips as it waits to see if it’s master wants to play. 

 

The Director is distracted by the conversation, so it contents itself with a spot on the carpet. The girl on the wall, photographed and framed. Somehow artificial when she knows the camera is pointing at her.  

 

Who started this conversation anyhow? You did. Did not. Yes, you did. You just don't remember it. Oh, Mark, it's all right. We can talk. I can't stand it. I can't stand it anymore. You're going to make me cry. I know, honey, I know. Me, too. No, don't. Oh, God. Stett asks The Director if he wants to hear it again. Anger rising, The Director snarls at Stett; ‘You want it to be true!’ His assistant just wants him to know – whatever he needs to know. That’s all. As if noticing Caul standing there, The Director tells him his money’s on the table. Awkwardly, Harry sits at the table. All neatly laid out. Carefully, he counts it, not touching the bills before he has to, as if eager not to leave prints on them.

The Director pets his dog as he listens to the arrangements. Jack Tar Hotel, Three o’clock, 773. Harry notices another photo; The Director, the girl, together, smiles. As so often with powerful and rich people, The Director finds the subject of money, its presence distasteful. Asks Harry to count it outside. He’s done counting, puts his money in the envelope and, finally goes to give The Director the photos he asked for. When the red, red robin goes bob-bob, bobbin' along… Harry asks ‘What will you do to her?’ and the tape has the answer. He’d kill us if he got the chance. The tape gives its answer, The Director gives none. Stett escorts Harry to the elevator. Caul asks him what they’ll do to the couple. ‘We’ll see.’

Disgusted, frustrated and helpless, Harry tosses the envelope on the lawn outside, by a Christmas tree waiting for decoration. The words of the conversation loud in his mind, the hotel, Sunday.

Checking in at the Jack Tar, Harry asks for Room 773. Occupied, but all the rooms are basically the same, the clerk helpfully informs him. He takes an adjoining room, setting to work straight away, tapping the wall with his ring, checking the construction, working the problem. Taking a smallish blue plastic case to the bathroom, he finds a spot and flushes the toilet a few times, working fast with a hand-drill to make a tiny hole. Placing a probe microphone into place, he plugs headphones in and makes some adjustments to the receiver.

 

Voices. Angry. Defensive. The Director; accusing, The girl, denying. Then, the conversation Harry knows word by word; played in the room next door. Or in his head? His recording, being used in evidence? It’s too much to stand, to take. He goes into the bedroom, sits, listening and watching at the wall, the voices dulled now as they come through the wall without any helpful microphones. Anger rising. Unable to stop himself, he goes to the balcony, to see – to his utter horror, his fears confirmed. Inches from his face, the girl, back to the partitioned opaque glass, screaming, a man’s hand against it, smeared with blood.

Shutting the curtains, television on, Harry reels from reality, hiding under the covers like a frightened child. He must have blacked out, it’s dark and The Flintstones is playing. Going to the door of 773, there’s no answer to his knock, so Harry produces a lock-picking set, setting to work with the torsion bar and pick to work the lock. 

 

                                 ANOTHER MONTAGE? WERE THEY HOLDING A SALE?

He finds the room is empty, immaculately so, right down to the strip of paper on the toilet and the room is clearly made ready for guests. Sanitized for your convenience. He even checks the bath, but there’s no trace of a murder. Then he checks the toilet, flushing it. The blood appears from nowhere, backing up and filling the bowl, spilling into the tiled floor.

Harry takes a tram back to the Embarcadero Center, pushing past the receptionist and insisting on seeing The Director. A security guard, built like a linebacker comes down the spiral stairs and Harry tries to fight his way up, to no avail. Giving up, he regains his composure and leaves, the guard unbuttoning his jacket to reveal the revolver tucked into his waistband. Outside the building, Harry pauses and regards a Mercedes Benz 600 limousine at the kerb as it sits, engine running, waiting. Curious, he walks up to look past the curtains. And sees the girl, sitting in the back. Alive.

YES, VOLCANO CAT LIKES MONTAGES. APOLOGIES; BACK TO THE PLOT!

Harry picks up a newspaper, to see if he can believe his eyes. A photo; a car wreck. Auto Crash Kills Executive.

Flanked by security and suits, the girl makes her way down the stairs to the waiting press, who crowd her for comment. Does she suspect any foul play in the accident? What about the company – will her stock now give her a controlling interest? Harry stands apart from the throng, seeing it all; the bloodied hotel room, before that the sheet of plastic going over The Director, the girl turning away as the young man kills him. 

 

The young man from the square. He’s there, in among all the commotion, as is Stett, who catches Harry’s eye. He knows, Stett. And Harry hears the tape again, the meaning now horrible with clarity. I don't know what I'm going to get him for Christmas yet… He doesn't need anything anymore. Harry sees it all, from the other side of the balcony glass. The girl screams as the dying man staggers at her, grabbed from behind by his murderer, himself wrapped in plastic.

In his apartment, Harry Caul plays saxophone to his records. The phone rings, he lifts then replaces the handset, continues playing. As does the phone, insistent. He answers this time. The sound of a tape being rewound then Stett; ‘We know that you know, Mr. Caul.’ He warns Harry not to get involved any further. ‘We’ll be listening to you.’ Then, the tinny sound of Harry’s sax is played back to him down the telephone. Using an electromagnetic field detector, Harry scans the walls of his apartment for bugs. His home suddenly unfamiliar to him, he looks around it with suspicious eyes. He takes it apart, unscrewing light-switch plates, taking down the curtains, searching, checking, checking. He takes things off his shelves, pausing only at the statue of the Blessed Virgin, which he leaves. Next the telephone, testing every contact, every wire with a Multimeter, looking for any incongruous voltage.

When everything has seemingly been checked, Harry finally turns back to the Blessed Virgin, attacking the statuette and destroying it to find… emptiness. An innocent virgin, this plastic Mary.

Harry cannot stop, not until he finds the bug. Piece by panel, panel by floorboard he tears and prises his apartment to pieces. Himself. His life.

Sitting on the sole chair he left intact, amidst the detritus of an empty life, Harry Caul plays Saxophone, unaccompanied, no hi-fi or records left for this final solo. Goodbye Harry.

 

FRANCIS FORD COPPOLA WITH GENE HACKMAN ON LOCATION

Lots has been said already; links to more concise, more revealing reviews will follow, but what can a cat – even a volcano-dwelling one hope to add anyway? Much has been made of the film’s use of CCTV-style camera motions, right up to that final tragic Sax solo – the camera pans back and forth as if hoping for a shoplifter to capture. It’s clever, sometimes so subtle you forget Coppola is working the strings – but working he is, constantly. The whole meaning of the titular conversation changes on us, perhaps a modern audience sees the twist, perhaps it still shocks. Certainly, the vital line ‘He’d kill us if he had the chance’ was re-recorded, adding emphasis to the ‘us’ - a deceit that brought the director critical flak from Brian De Palma, calling this ‘A terrible cheat’, as he promoted his 1981 film Blow Out. A bit rich for someone retooling someone else’s movie?

Every review mentions Watergate; the timing of the film was luck, pure and simple; being released just as the scandal broke. The script had been written in the 1960’s, by and large and Watergate breaking was a fortuitous co-incidence, although The Conversation didn’t do especially well at the Box office. Much has been made about the name ‘Caul’ too – apparently a typo, ‘Call’ became ‘Caul’, but apparently Coppola liked the allusion – Caul meaning a condition in which a fetus is covered in a membrane. Harry’s raincoat, the sheets of plastic he is often behind, the plastic tarpaulin covering the murder victim…

JAPANESE MOVIE PAMPHLET

A POSTER FOR THE GERMAN RELEASE

AUSTRALIAN ONE-SHEET POSTER

HALF-SHEET POSTER.

LOBBY CARDS

(ABOVE & BELOW) STUDIO GLOSSIES

The Mime present in Union Square is played by Robert Shields, who studied Mime in Paris and was apparently performing in Union Square at the time of production.

When Harry cues up the tapes at his workshop, labels reveal the date of the recording to be December the second, 1972.

There’s a Director’s Cameo; the broadcaster on TV in Harry’s room at the Jack Tar is Francis Ford Coppola himself.

The boy in the church scene is Gian-Carlo Coppola, the son of the Director. Tragically, his life was cut short in a boat accident with Griffin O’Neal, son of actor Ryan O’Neal in 1986. O’Neal was fined $200. O’Neal later went on to be jailed for his involvement in a car crash.

The continuity woman on The Conversation apparently forgot to add the convention tag to Gene Hackman’s suit for one scene after cleaning; this left her distraught, but she said in an interview Francis Ford Coppola was anxious to reassure her it was okay; hence the shot of Hackman discarding the tag, added to cover her blushes, so to speak. Annoyingly, VC cannot seem to find the interview for verification, so asks readers to take it on trust…

The Mercedes limo seen near the end of the film was won in a bet; Francis Ford Coppola had complained to Paramount about having to car share during filming of The Godfather (1972) The studio told him if the film did well, they would buy Coppola a car for himself. It did and they did.

So where was the bug? Harry tears what’s left of himself apart to find it… Theories proposed include it being the telephone device Moran demonstrates with his harmonica (in which case, surely Harry would have found it when he took the phone apart) and in the one place Harry doesn’t look... His Saxophone. Discuss this among yourselves. We’ll be listening…

When Harry arrives at One Embarcadero with the package, the receptionist tells him to make himself comfortable, then says something else, but – Irony! - there’s no audio.

At the convention, Harry admires himself on screen thanks to a Panasonic CCTV camera. Although the camera is panning to and fro, it’s clearly not sending any imagery as the socket at the back has no wire plugged in, nor is the power light on.

The episode of The Flintstones playing in Harry’s hotel room at the Jack Tar is ‘The Blessed Event’ (1963) – But the dialogue and scenes are out of sequence, presumably for effect.