Turner (Robert Redford) is not your stereotypical Central Intelligence Agency operative, the short‐haired, buttoned‐down kind we've seen testifying live on television from time to time. Turner's hair is fashionably long. He wears blue jeans and shirts without ties and he rides to work on a motorcycle. He's an eccentric link in the C.I.A. chain of command.
THREE DAYS OF THE CONDOR, directed by Sydney Pollack; screenplay by Lorenzo Semple Jr. and David Rayfiel, based on the novel Six Days of the Condor, by James Grady; produced by Stanley Schneider; director of photography, Owen Roizman; music, Dave Grusin: supervising flint editor, Fredric Steinkamp: editor, Don Guidice; a Dino de Laurentiis presentation, distributed by Paramount. Running time: 118 minutes. This film has been rated R.
Turner's “work” is on Manhattan's upper East Side, in a handsome old brownstone identified as the American Literary Historical Society, which is a blind for an esoteric C.I.A. research center where agents read and feed into a computer pertinent details from contemporary novels, short stories and journals of all sorts. The aim: to find out whether pending C.I.A. operations may have somehow been leaked, and to pick up pointers on spy methodology that may have been fantasized by hack fiction writers.
Turner is a C.I.A. “reader,” which, like the job of a reader at a movie company, is about as unimportant as job can be while still qualifying its incumbent as a member of the team.Yet in Sydney Pollack's “Three Days of the Condor,” Turner, whose code name is Condor, comes close to wreaking more havoc on the C.I.A. in three days than any number of House and Senate investigating committees have done in years. (The film, based on James Grady's novel, “Six Days of the Condor,” has compressed the story's time span, necessitating the modification of title.)“Three Days of the Condor,” which opened yesterday at Loews Astor Plaza and Tower East Theaters, is a good‐looking, entertaining suspense film that is most effective when it's being most conventional, working variations on obligatory sequences of pursuit and flight, and on those sudden revelations that can reverse the roles of cat and mouse.As a serious exposé of misdeeds within the C.I.A. the film is no match for stories that have appeared in your local newspaper. Indeed, one has to pay careful attention to figure out just what it is that who is doing to whom in “Three Days of the Condor” and, if I understood it correctly, it's never as horrifying as the real thing.In the screenplay by Lorenzo Semple Jr., and David Rayfiel, Turner very early on stumbles upon the existence of a kind of super‐C.I.A. within the C.I.A., after which his life is not worth a plug nickel. It doesn't do to analyze too closely the character Mr. Redford plays, that is, to ask why the bookish intellectual of the film's opening sequences would have joined the C.I.A. in the first place, or how he later manages so easily to become such a hotshot at tapping telephones and kidnapping very important persons.
The suspense of the film depends less on this kind of plausibility than on Mr. Redford's reputation (in a movie we accept the fact that he can do anything) and on the verve with which Mr. Pollack, the director, sets everything up. It also benefits from the presence of good actors, including Faye Dunaway (as the woman who befriends the. fleeing Turner), Cliff Robertson, Max Von Sydow and John Houseman, though it's not a film to make particular demands on their talents.At its best moments, “Three Days of the Condor” creates without effort or editorializing that sense of isolation—that far remove from reality‐within which supergovernment agencies can operate with such heedless immunity. This point is implicit in the jargon the agents use. When a C.I.A. man speaks to Turner of “the community,” he's not talking about a borough or a city or a state but about the brotherhood of intelligence people, who live in another dimension of time, place and expectation.