Graceless

FRANK SINATRA is a man in a maelstrom. As detective sergeant Edward Delaney in The First Deadly Sin, he must track and capture a crazed killer, comfort and protect his sick wife after her kidney has been removed, and deal with a belligerent captain sent in from downtown to clean up his deteriorating precinct.

Such battles could present fascinating subplots in and of themselves, yet director Brian Hutton frustratingly fails in his attempt to interwine them and make the whole more than simply the sum of its parts.

The film is set in New York--not the panoramic vistas or colorful neighborhood shots we've come to expect of movies set in the Big Apple, but in interior New York, the New York of hospitals, precinct houses, and apartments. Hutton flashes back and forth from one interior to the other, first by Barbara Delaney's (Faye Dunaway) bedside, then to the prowling killer, then to the stalking Delaney. But never does he make clear the connection between his three protagonists, whose movements parallel, counter, and shadow each other through the most critical moments of the film--though one is never sure to what end.

Sinatra broaches the singer-as-actor credibility gap, giving a thoroughly realistic and low-key performance as one of New York's finest. Perhaps it would be in poor taste to suggest, as one observer did, that Sinatra ought to be able to fashion a fine portrayal of a New York policeman--he's had enough altercations with the type--but Sinatra doesn't miss a trick. His deadpan expression and passionless eyes brilliantly reflect the torments of a man who must, at once, watch his once-beautiful wife slowly collapse into herself, and yet still be the consummate professional in his work.

Faye Dunaway literally withers away before the camera's eye, becoming merely a living mask of death by the story's conclusion. It's a touching performance, but one wonders if an actress of Dunaway's magnitude is required to deliver it. Daniel Blank (David Dukes), the killer who strikes concurrent with her periods of medical crisis, suffers periodic fits that make him prowl the city, striking down victims with a particularly vicious mountain climber's icepick. Yet here too is caricature--the screenplay never sufficiently explains the root of his troubles, nor why he feels compelled to shave his head, wear a wig, or sleep under a shelf in his walk-in-closet.

Hutton's camera catches all the nuances and real-life minutiae of his characters and settings, from Delaney's pursing of lips and slight cocking of head to the "Wet Paint" sign in the precinct house, to the pink-jacked, clothespin-nosed punk rocker being busted for solicitation. Similarly, the dialogue lends a certain sardonic grittiness to The First Deadly Sin:

Sgt. Delaney: But what if I can prove the killer's struck in other precincts?

Captain Broughton: I don't care if you've got Lizzie Borden going down on Jack the Ripper in the middle of Times Square. I've got enough whores, pimps, creeps and queers out there to start my own Macy's parade. Clean up this precinct first.

James Whitmore as a coroner and Martin Gabel as a museum arms curator who eventually tracks down the killer's weapon bring further touches of self-deprecating humor to their roles, yet once again Hutton fails to weave these nuances into the main body of the plot. One is left instead with just isolated stars, isolated scenes and an isolated plot.

But movies must succeed on more than a simply a male and female star alone, and here The First Deadly Sin fails. As a murder mystery there is simply no suspense or doubt--it travels the straight and narrow path from beginning, middle, to end, never throwing a curve by presenting an alternate suspect, never even temporarily blocking Delaney's inexorable march to solution of the puzzle. The ingredients of the film are delicious on their own merits--it's only when so combined that the recipe fails to pan out, as neither Sinatra's nor Dunaway's performance can provide enough spark to carry the entire story by itself. In short, the first deadly sin was for a dogged director like Hutton to attempt to translate Lawrence Sanders' novel to the silver screen. The second deadly sin is to force it upon the unsuspecting public.