Another film inextricably linked to a star cast as a last-minute replacement; it's impossible now to imagine how it would have turned out had Sinatra not dropped out and Harry Callaghan will forever more be Clint Eastwood.
As it stands San Francisco looks an urban hell with suitably nightmarish music by Lalo Schifrin and grimacing gargoyle Scorpio seems completely at home (evidently he killed for feral pleasure rather than merely attention like his inspiration Zodiac).
As for Harry himself his cynicism was aptly demonstrated by the famous speech that bookended it: evidently he knew precisely how many shots he'd fired, the first he was purely feigning ignorance for fun, the second time he was in deadly earnest about to commit judicial murder.
As it stands San Francisco looks an urban hell with suitably nightmarish music by Lalo Schifrin and grimacing gargoyle Scorpio seems completely at home (evidently he killed for feral pleasure rather than merely attention like his inspiration Zodiac).
As for Harry himself his cynicism was aptly demonstrated by the famous speech that bookended it: evidently he knew precisely how many shots he'd fired, the first he was purely feigning ignorance for fun, the second time he was in deadly earnest about to commit judicial murder.