Film Studies: David Thomson

I'll throw you a line you can't refuse...

The thrust of this poll was not necessarily to discover the richest, most dramatic moments in American film. That's harder work than most poll-happy film people are inclined to undertake. It goes so thoroughly to the heart of films that are profound works of art. So - for instance - a wise electorate might determine that the moment Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) looks at Al Neri (Richard Bright), as Michael is embracing Fredo (John Cazale) in The Godfather: Part II would be high on the list. Nothing is said, yet a death sentence has been passed; and we are left, not just in the know, but close to participants in the dark decision. One lesson from that, I think, is that great lines in film, or the best bits of dialogue, do summon a silent assent from the audience. In other words, that moment is not just cinematic, or great, but it spells out the secret bonds between viewers and the process of film.

The AFI didn't have that moment, but if you think for a moment you'll know what they did vote from The Godfather (and it came second overall in the poll). That's right: "I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse." The Godfather: Part II did score (at number 58) with "Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer." What those results mean is that the best lines are the ones most easily remembered, so that they have become mottos for the film or for Godfatherishness as a whole. Thus, "I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse" is not real talk - in the sense of spontaneous human exchange - it's a nudging signal (often self-mocking, or camp, or tongue-in-cheek) for a kind of mythic behaviour. It's a shorthand that says forget real talk and fill in with suitable cliches. And so, it's a tragic admission that people in movies have given up talking like life.

If that sounds too sweeping, just dig into the best 100 at random, and see how far the Corleone tone persists. So many of these treasured lines are less actual talk than conversation-stoppers, a kind of "top that" remark that produces nothing but awe and silence. Ready?

"Go ahead, make my day"; "I'm king of the world"; "Oh no, it wasn't the airplanes. It was Beauty killed the Beast"; "Hasta la vista, baby"; "Forget it, Jake, it's Chinatown"; "Say 'hello' to my little friend"; "Well, nobody's perfect"; "We rob banks"; "You're gonna need a bigger boat"; "I'll have what she's having"; "After all, tomorrow is another day"; "Show me the money"; "You talking to me?"; "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

If you read this column with any regularity, chances are you know where most of those come from. You may smile when you hear them. Nor do I mean to detract from any of them. "Forget it, Jake. It's Chinatown" became literature in the space of a single film. "Well, nobody's perfect" was truly astounding, not just a last line but an opening up of fresh territory in a film already way ahead of its time. And "Frankly, my dear ..." is a lovely mixture of the Margaret Mitchell original, a Selznick improvement ("frankly"), Clark Gable's fruity way with that adverb and everyone's certainty that the line was an outrage to the Code and thus extra publicity (Selznick had to pay a fine for Gable to say "damn").

But a lot of those lines became catch-phrases or slogans in their own films, and they are symptomatic of that grudging approach to words exemplified by Clint Eastwood and Arnold Schwarzenegger, of saying as little as possible, but walking out of every conversation with some pithy urge for silence that has the intimidating power of a left hook. A lot of the lines voted for are last lines, or lines that close big scenes ad they are often a way for power or authority to tell doubt, complexity and dissent to shut up. They are the kind of lines that could be printed up on T-shirts and worn by people who really don't want to talk - "I coulda been a contender"; "I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore"; "You can't handle the truth"; "Bond, James Bond"; or simply "Rosebud". Such lines are like signs that, because they use words, seem to promise eloquence or communication. Yet, in practice aren't they often saying, "No trespassing"?

d.thomson@independent.co.uk