ith a distinctly voyeuristic vibe, the camera steadily zooms into San Francisco’s Union Square, where various people roam about and chat. They’re spied upon, not just by the camera, but the audience as well; their casual movements, their trivial exchanges, all scrutinized as if potentially important. And indeed, several of these characters are being purposefully surveilled by a team of operatives who zero in on conversations and activities. It’s quite the eavesdropping event.

From a Pioneer Glass company van parked at the curb – an effective cover – a group of private surveillance and security experts shoot the breeze as they collect data on a man and a woman in the plaza. Paul (Michael Higgins) is spotted, and so he removes himself from the area, as Harry Caul (Gene Hackman) and Stan Ross (John Cazale) continue to record, while another shadowy figure remains perched atop a towering building to get the best line of sight. Interestingly, they don’t even know who the targets are, or why they’re being targeted; it could be for the Justice Department or the IRS or another government agency. It hardly matters; these men are merely doing their jobs, asking few official questions but guessing at the significance of their marks nonetheless – at least as a form of passing the time.

44-year-old Harry lives an unusually secluded, isolated life while on this assignment; he admittedly has nothing of value in his quiet, undecorated apartment. And his office – a massive, mostly empty warehouse – is just as drab and colorless, brimming with recording and audio equipment in one corner only, which he uses to play and replay a conversation between the couple, who keep up their routine of walking in circles and commenting on seemingly innocuous things. Fascinatingly, although little happens during the introductory moments, the clandestine goings-on, the tightlipped behaviors, and the paranoid developments keep the narrative engaging. It’s also somewhat frustrating, as Harry is so unprepared when it comes to answers – or lies – especially when he’s interrogated in an offhand way by the woman he’s seeing, who happens to know virtually nothing about him. “I don’t have any secrets.”

David Shire’s score, full of gentle yet nervy piano music is absolutely sensational, perfectly capturing the senses of suspiciousness and distrust wafting through the premise. Dangerous people abound; no one can be trusted. But with so few details about who Harry works for and why two lovers are being tailed, there’s also quite the mystery afoot – though it’s one of light curiosity and a touch of irritation. Answers are withheld for a considerable amount of time; delays and lengthy analyzations stretch out the runtime, even if they heighten the paranoia and create reasons for Harry to worry about both his subjects and his own safety (revelations and confessions here are outstanding). “What they do with the tapes is their own business.”

This is nearly a one-man show, with Hackman giving an extraordinary performance as a conflicted soul whose personal beliefs, business ethic, and moral compass begin to unravel as he steadily uncovers clues about the Union Square conversation. And he undoubtedly sells the story, virtually singlehandedly, representing a perspective of slowly recognizing the ways in which powerful figures can manipulate and persecute underlings – utilizing the tools of his own trade, thereby creating a certain guilt and culpability for outcomes, or for the potentially severe consequences that may be a direct result of his unique skills and aid. Concern, obsession, and a runaway imagination transform into disappointment, regret, and revulsion (as well as hypocrisy in the face of the distant watcher becoming the watched in a twist on perception and reality).

However, the supporting cast contains a wealth of familiar faces, including, coincidentally, Harrison Ford and Cindy Williams (both having appeared together the year before in “American Graffiti”), as well as Teri Garr and Robert Duvall in minor yet integral roles. The film is also produced, written, and directed by a single auteur, Francis Ford Coppola; it’s as if a lone filmmaker wanted to highlight how a lone character can bring about great ruination – or salvation – based on a single decision. And, indeed, “The Conversation” becomes a masterwork of tone and mood, a carefully-plotted, slow-burn thriller devoid of action but full of tension, culminating in such an unforgettably superb, clever, unexpected climax (and a diabolical denouement) that it overshadows any of the previous pacing lulls.

– Mike Massie