An ambitious reporter gets in way-over-his-head trouble while investigating a senator's assassination which leads to a vast conspiracy involving a multinational corporation behind every event in the worlds headlines.
Alan J. Pakula
Norman is a curmudgeon with an estranged relationship with his daughter Chelsea. At Golden Pond, he and his wife nevertheless agree to care for Billy, the son of Chelsea's new boyfriend, and a most unexpected relationship blooms.
Six months after the disappearance of Tuscarora, PA businessman Tom Gruneman, his boss, Peter Cable, and his wife, Holly Gruneman, hire Tom's best friend, private detective John Klute to find out what happened to Tom, as the police have been unable to do so, and despite John having no expertise in missing persons cases. The only lead is a typewritten obscene letter Tom purportedly sent to Manhattan actress/model/call girl Bree Daniel, who admits to having received such letters from someone, and since having received several obscene telephone calls as well. The suggestion/belief is that Tom was one of Bree's past johns, although she has no recollection of him when shown his photograph. Bree tricking is more a compulsion than a financial need. In their initial encounters, John and Bree do whatever they can to exert their psychological dominance over the other, especially as Bree initially refused to even speak to him. Despite their less than friendly start, they embark on a personal ... Written by
The amount of tape in the take up reel of Klute's tape recorder when he stops it and rewinds while talking on the phone with Trask. See more »
I was just finishing up some work here. I used to be a photographer, you know... before I got into publishing.
He knows you're a pimp, Frankie. He knows you were my pimp.
Excuse me... Bree, would you mind waiting outside?
I always respected Bree. I want to make something clear: you know, I don't go to a woman. A woman comes to me. *Her* choice.
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Despite the rough-edges reputation of Pakula, he always manages to give us some beautifully shot, almost fragile images. Like Fonda pondering an envelope full of money and a blank invoice while surrounded by clothing-store dummies; or Sutherland choosing apricots by feel; or even Roy Scheider's silent acknowledgement that he is being used. And Fonda's artless performance is so unbelieveable, I couldn't believe it was her.
Terrifically acted - everyone takes just the right tone. My only quibble about the movie is how the mystery is solved. It's much too abrupt given the meandering pace of the rest of the movie. But the plot means nothing in this surprisingly delicate character study.
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