Sid ne y Lume t June 25, 1924 – April 9, 2011
OBITUAR otham lost its harshest biographer this year. Whereas Woody Allen paints New York in various shades of burgundy and corduroy, and Marty slathers on the Italian claret, Lumet etched the city in grit and grime and beery, bleary washed out lives lived out close to the buckled core of the Big Apple. From the searing crucible of Dog Day Afternoon to the insane summertime bounce of The Wiz and the wintry wash of The Verdict, Lumet sketched his adopted city in every light. Often thought of as an actor’s director, Lumet was also blessed with a great eye and a boundless energy that he used to corral what was often stagebound or otherwise difficult, unwieldy material into tense, gripping cinema. Serpico is often mentioned as his high-water mark, but it is perhaps the bleak majesty of 1981’s Prince of the City that will eventually outshine them all. ‘A cop is turning. Nobody’s safe’ ran the film’s tagline. Such conflicted moral switchbacks would define all Lumet’s best work.
When he did stray from his beloved New York, the results were, it has to be said, something of a mixed bag. He made a couple of real gems with Sean Connery in The Offence (set in seamy Yorkshire) and The Hill (an Army glasshouse in North Africa), but Long Island-set ‘gay kiss’ shocker Deathtrap starring Michael Caine and Christopher Reeve was a bit of a turkey, while a rare sojourn to LA resulted in moribund Jane Fonda thriller The Morning After. These minor, occasionally interesting blemishes aside, Lumet leaves behind a body of work to stand with any in post-war American cinema
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