There is a scene in TRUE CONFESSIONS where Robert De Niro’s priest explains to his brother, Robert Duvall’s police detective, that he is “Tired of fixing things.” The siblings are in a diner and the two legendary actors practically illuminate the entire modern history of masculine emotional repression in a few brief minutes over coffee. These brothers want to be closer. They have more in common than not and the brutally compromised late 1940’s Los Angeles landscape is weighing heavily on their souls.
On the surface- TRUE CONFESSIONS (released September, 1981) may feel like a standard early 80’s mystery-thriller-neo-noir with a pair of outstanding actors headlining (supporting cast is wonderful too- Charles Durning, Burgess Meredith and Kenneth McMillan). I’ve seen the film several times over the years (always been fond of it) but this recent viewing was the most rewarding. One thing that struck me this time around was how convincing the actors (De Niro and Duvall) are as brothers. Physically. And the movie not only holds up (these men could easily be entrenched in the corporate monstrosity that is/was 2020 America); it has what all excellent movies should- a seemingly effortless emotional resonance.
It’s 1948, Desmond Spellacy (De Niro) is a shrewd, business-minded Roman Catholic monsignor in the L.A. archdiocese. Desmond (“Des”) traverses his world like an exacting fox (those around him take notice). His older brother, Tom (Duvall), a hard-edged homicide detective with the LAPD, lives on the edge of his disdain for insincerity. Tom hates a phoney (and a criminal). The brothers clearly enjoy each other- and they both express an honest desire to spend more time together- but life too often interferes. Desmond is the church’s boy wonder because of his talent for developing projects and keeping costs low. This ability sometimes entails overlooking the shadiness of construction mogul, Jack Amsterdam, an obnoxious, Trump-like criminal played to the hilt by the totally unique Charles Durning. When a young woman is found murdered (her body cut in half- ala the “Black Dahlia”)- Tom Spellacy and his partner, Frank (a fun Kenneth McMillan), pursue the case. The woman is labeled "The Virgin Tramp" by the press (she was a Catholic and a prostitute) turning the case into a sensationalist enterprise that quickly involves Tom’s brother, Desmond, and the church.
The plot then orbits a scandalous atmosphere of back-room dealings between the church and Amsterdam’s men- a macabre porno movie- lots of suspect funds changing hands- and fiery tempers causing scenes across the boards- always with the two brothers caught smack in the middle.
The movie is its two stars. Duvall and De Niro waltz together. You’re watching two actors spar (lightly) armed with the subtlety of gesture as opposed to boxing gloves. The effect is disarmingly sweet- a gentle communication- not competitive or antagonistic. The respect each performer has for the other serves to enhance the deeper relationship their characters yearn for. De Niro has some of the weight left over from his incredible transformation into the older Jake La Motta (1980’s RAGING BULL- for which De Niro won the Oscar for Best Actor- Duvall was nominated the same year for THE GREAT SANTINI)- but he’s light on his feet. De Niro’s struggling monsignor approaches every act like a rite of passage. Whether he’s folding and putting away his garments in church- or a locker-room after golf- or meticulously arranging items within his grasp on a table- you feel the young priest struggling with a pesky inabilty to totally love God (Des, in fact, tells his brother this at the end of the movie- “I never had a great gift for loving God.”) De Niro instinctively understands the keys to his character- his doubt as a practitioner of religion- his need to be closer to his brother- and his talent for wheeling and dealing (it’s mentioned in the movie- Des is a better “accountant” than a “priest”). The scenes in the film where De Niro is taking confessions- the profundity of these scenes comes largely from De Niro’s performance. Desmond knows he has no right to be anyone’s confessor- he doesn’t think it’s a distinct possibility- he knows it.
Then there’s Duvall. I used to tell people Robert Duvall is like a ballerina (soliciting strange looks from whomever I was talking to). What I mean- Duvall has such an abysmal reservoir of subtle expressions- such a sharp degree of psychic current he can convey on an almost microscopic level- that watching him is like witnessing a world-class ballerina (the muscles in Duvall’s face/around his eyes- the feet of the ballerina). He compliments De Niro’s ferocious electricity with his own jolts of actorly dexterity. It’s entirely athletic at times. The camera rests on Duvall’s face like the moon reflecting on a body of water. A lot of it’s obviously in the eyes. Both of these actors (as good as anything America’s ever produced) understand what the camera does for them- and more importantly- what they must not do for the camera. Watching these guys do their thing makes one realize how rare it is to see such good acting. Stream some new movies- you’ll quickly see what I mean. Modern acting (maybe since 2010 or so?) is often diluted with over-emoting, literal grandstanding- a general lack of focus- and a comprehensive misunderstanding of the camera/what it ‘s for/what it does.
TRUE CONFESSIONS was adapted from the novel of the same name by John Gregory Dunne (loosely based on the Black Dahlia murder/1947). Dunne wrote the screenplay with his wife, celebrated novelist Joan Didon. The movie was directed by Ulu Grosbard (excellent director behind films like STRAIGHT TIME (1978) and FALLING IN LOVE (1984)).
The movie begins and ends in the desert. Tom has arrived to visit his dying brother. Desmond has found a sanctuary for his departure in the middle of nowhere (it’s also where his mentor, Burgess Meredith’s priest from earlier in the film, told Des he would like to end his days). The film’s closing is very peaceful- strikingly lyrical (complimented by Georges Delerue’s music)- and it takes place in a tiny graveyard. The brothers walk together among the gravestones. You are left with the impression death is nothing to fear- nothing to be sad about- just a necessary refrain from this world’s hypocrisy, corruption and incessant trials. And- it’s not all bad- if you played your cards right- you voyaged alongside people you loved and/or made serious attempts to understand- better.