The Friends of Eddie Coyle is a very good example of gritty 1970s Hollywood. It's also a great example of how a crime film should be made: methodically, with an emphasis on mood and behavior, instead and thrills and violence. Director Peter Yates' (yep, the same Peter Yates that did Krull...) carefully observed, yet mercurially pace establishes the perfect tapestry from which this story springboards from. Most films portray crime as a shady, shadowy, if not seductive venture; this film treats it as a form of day labor -- out in the open, with nothing to hide (be it a corner bar, or a supermarket parking lot). Of course the film's lynchpin is Robert Mitchum (have I mentioned that I love him?). He often gets criticized for being lazy and uncaring in his performances. I contend that he's such a good actor, that he never overacts or calls attention to his emoting, that it throws people off. You'll never see him be showy, but he finds truth in every moment. He's subtle and nuanced, not "performative." He won't boast and yell in typical Oscar bait fashion, but watch his eyes sometime -- they say more than many actors' entire bodies could ever say. Eddie Coyle is a great example of this idea, and it just so happens to be one of Mitchum's finest roles, completely stripping down the brazen masculinity that had made him popular He's an aging, grounded, unsentimental, down-on-his-luck man who's trying to beat one last rap. There's both a quiet desperation and a sense of urgency behind every one of his lines. Mitchum died in 1997 and it's hard not to think of his bellowing steel baron in Jim Jarmusch's Dead Man as his final bow. Yet, watching him take in a Bruins game, drinking a few beers and chanting "Number Four! Bobby Orr!" before his bartender friend takes him home for the night, it's even harder to consider The Friend of Eddie Coyle as anything less than Mitchum's true swan song.