This movie is about style and little else. The plot is largely predictable and most of the relationships so one-dimensional as to be nearly disposable. And yet for a man of my generation, the iconic 'cool' of Steve McQueen was irresistible. We, or at least many of us, modeled ourselves on this character, his comfortable relationships with men he considers allies, his partner, the black doctor, the cab driver, his informant, his way of dressing, of walking and talking, his treatment of women and nearly disdainful attitude toward his 'superiors'. Listen, the plot is full of holes. It revolves around a witness brought into town by an ambitious DA and put up in a flea bag hotel down on the embarcadero. What, Walter Chalmers couldn't afford to put this guy up in a decent hotel? This is his 'star' witness, after all. But this is a total flea bag! No security, no door locks (the 'chain' hardly qualifies!) and no reason on earth they put this guy in this death trap! But there he is and Frank Bullitt is asked to guard him for a couple of days until the big congressional hearings begin. So does Frank move him to a more secure location? Like perhaps an uptown hotel with a doorman, security cameras and a few potential eye witnesses wandering around? No, he decides that the rusty chain on the door is good enough. So they up and leave the youngest officer with a bag of sandwiches, a stack of magazines and the mob informant, while Frank goes out to dinner with his girlfriend and we are treated to a montage of McQueen and Bisset in stylish soft focus, in a trendy north beach eatery, swilling white wine over a forgettable jazz track. The restaurant phone rings, it is for Frank, the killers have evidently shown up at the hotel and had the desk clerk announce their presence by calling the room with some flimsy story about Walter Chalmers being in the lobby and wanting to come up for a nightcap. Wait. They call the room? They call the room?? They could have gotten the room number from that feckless desk clerk by flashing the Winchester pump or with a sawbuck and a clenched fist. They didn't need to call the frigging room! Well Frank smells a rat. 'Don't let them in, I'll be there in five minutes,' he tells the young policeman. But apparently no one had anticipated these guys would let themselves in by kicking the door down! What did they think? That these guys would knock? So in the five minutes it supposedly takes Frank to arrive, not only has the shooting occurred, but a crowd has gathered, uniformed policemen are directing traffic, several ambulances and assorted police back-up units are on the scene, and EMS has the wounded officer on a stretcher in the lobby! Now that's some five minutes! But, get this, the ruthless, professional killers, armed with a 12 gauge shotgun, have failed to actually kill anybody, even though they had these two essentially defenseless guys trapped in a small room. I wonder how they would do with fish-in-a-barrel. But maybe they're as cheap as Walter Chalmers and only brought two shotgun shells. The film is full of implausible situations. Even the car chase, as well staged as it is, is sort of pointless. Why were the two baddies following McQueen? To find the hidden witness, who they assumed was still alive? And when it becomes obvious that McQueen has spotted them, they continue to follow him?? As though he would still somehow lead them to the injured witness. Hahaha. Perhaps to kill McQueen? Okay, why not simply pull up beside him when he picks his car up at the car wash and exchange gunfire? But no, they follow him around until he manages to get behind them (to the delight of every fourteen year old in the audience) and then he starts chasing them! To what end? I mean, there is no evidence McQueen has called for any backup during the chase, so he's planning to do what when he 'catches' them? Flash his badge and tell them to climb in the back seat of his Mustang? A shoot out then? Two against one? Why are they running? No, as a plot device, the car chase doesn't hold up under the slightest scrutiny. So why do I love this goofy movie? Maybe it just takes me back to that time when movies didn't have to make sense. When it was enough to watch McQueen squint and smile. The director here recognised McQueen's minimalist gift. Eschewing dialogue for long, unflinching close-ups of that great, expressive face, McQueen can convey a page of script with a simple look. Watch his three or four close-ups while the emergency room staff work to save the dying mob informant. A remarkable minute or two. It is a lovely display of the actor's craft. Watching Steve McQueen deal with the likes of an over-reaching politician or a two-faced police captain or a beautiful, long-legged woman, wearing nothing more than a man's dress shirt while hanging on his every word, was enough. It's still enough.
