Film Review: Prime Cut (1972)

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The tension between urban and rural America has long served as a fruitful thematic backbone for Hollywood cinema, offering filmmakers a canvas to explore cultural, economic, and social contrasts. From gritty dramas to campy thrillers, this divide has inspired narratives ranging from the contemplative to the exploitative. While films like Deliverance (1972) approached the subject with seriousness, dissecting the psychological and societal fissures between modernity and isolation, many others opted for the path of least resistance, leaning into lurid stereotypes of “city slickers” versus rural “hillbillies” or “crackers” for cheap thrills. Prime Cut, a 1972 action thriller directed by Michael Ritchie, occupies a fascinating middle ground. It wields exploitation tropes with a mainstream sheen, blending lurid content with occasional moments of narrative ambition. The result is a film that feels both derivative and oddly ahead of its time, a product of Hollywood’s post-Hays Code recklessness and its hunger for boundary-pushing material.

Lee Marvin’s Nick Devlin is a gruff, no-nonsense enforcer for Chicago’s Irish mob, tasked by his boss, Jake (Eddie Egan), with collecting a $500,000 debt from the ruthless Mary Ann (Gene Hackman), a Kansas City meatpacking magnate who runs a parallel empire of drugs and prostitution. Devlin knows Mary Ann, with whose wife Clarabelle (Angel Tompkins) had an affair in the past, and that complicates his mission. Initially, Devlin seeks a diplomatic resolution, even intervening to rescue Poppy (Sissy Spacek), a teenage girl auctioned off as a sex slave. Yet Mary Ann’s refusal to settle the debt escalates the situation into a brutal showdown.

Devlin’s motivations, however, remain murkily defined. His decision to rescue Poppy—whom he later brings to a high-end restaurant in a revealing dress—lacks emotional grounding, a flaw exacerbated by the script’s failure to establish any genuine bond between them. This ambiguity undermines the stakes of Devlin’s mission, leaving his actions feeling more like contractual obligations than personal vendettas. The film’s memorable scene, in which Devlin and Poppy are pursued by a combine harvester, is thrilling but feels disconnected from the preceding narrative, as if the script’s priorities shifted midway from character to spectacle.

Prime Cut emerged during a transitional era for Hollywood, as studios tested the limits of newly relaxed censorship. The result is a film that straddles the line between mainstream cinema and grindhouse exploitation. While it lacks the raw, underground energy of, say, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974), its willingness to depict graphic violence and sexual content—within the constraints of 1972’s still-cautious norms—gives it a provocative edge. Ritchie’s direction, however, often feels uneven, prioritizing shock value over coherence. The film’s tone oscillates between grim realism and absurdity, as when Mary Ann’s brother Weenie (Gregory Walcott) oversees the grotesque butchery of a mob envoy in a slaughterhouse. Such scenes, while jarring, reflect the era’s fascination with pushing boundaries, even at the expense of narrative cohesion.

The film’s violence, while not overly graphic by modern standards, is striking for its time. The opening sequence, set in Mary Ann’s slaughterhouse, juxtaposes the industrial butchery of livestock with the violent “special delivery” of a mob envoy’s corpse—a visceral reminder of the family’s brutality. This sequence sets a tone of moral decay, where human and animal fates are equally disposable. Similarly, the auction scene, where nude teenage girls are paraded as “merchandise,” leans into exploitation, with Spacek’s Poppy serving as both victim and object of desire. Even after her rescue, Poppy’s wardrobe choices—a see-through dress with no underwear—seem calculated to titillate rather than develop her character.

The film’s sexual content extends beyond nudity. Poppy’s friendship with Violet (Janit Baldwin) hints at alternative sexuality, though these suggestions are never explored beyond suggestive dialogue. Meanwhile, Clarabelle’s seduction of Devlin, performed in translucent attire, further reduces female characters to decorative roles. These choices reflect the era’s exploitative tendencies, yet they also underscore the film’s conflicted relationship with its source material: it seeks to critique rural exploitation while simultaneously indulging in it.

Ritchie’s direction is hampered by the script’s glaring inconsistencies. The Irish mob’s passive response to Mary Ann’s murder of their envoys strains credibility, as does Devlin’s sudden decision to rescue Poppy—a plot point that feels more like a contrivance to introduce Spacek’s starlet than a meaningful character choice. The script’s handling of Devlin and Poppy’s relationship is particularly problematic. Ritchie reportedly wanted them to become lovers, but Lee Marvin’s resistance left their dynamic undefined. A more nuanced approach—such as framing Poppy as a surrogate daughter—might have lent depth to Devlin’s otherwise one-dimensional persona. Similarly, Weenie’s presence in a Kansas City flophouse is never adequately explained, leaving his role as Mary Ann’s unhinged enforcer feeling underdeveloped.

Despite its structural flaws, Prime Cut contains moments of genuine brilliance. The county fair sequence, with its atmosphere of pervasive menace, evokes the “cracker” paranoia of Deliverance, yet here the locals’ hostility feels less metaphorical and more overtly violent. The film’s most memorable scene, however, is the combine harvester pursuit. Inspired by North by Northwest (1959), the chase through wheat fields culminates in a chaotic collision that shreds car into pieces. This sequence, though derivative, showcases Ritchie’s flair for high-stakes action and his willingness to escalate tension through visual spectacle.

The film’s success rests largely on its performances. Lee Marvin delivers his signature “strong, silent type” persona with ease, grounding the proceedings in a gruff authenticity that compensates for Devlin’s underwritten character. Gene Hackman, however, steals the show as Mary Ann, a villain whose malevolent charisma is amplified by the unhinged presence of Weenie. Hackman’s performance is a masterclass in chilling unpredictability, his charm turning sinister as he manipulates and destroys those around him.

Sissy Spacek, in her debut role, proves herself a revelation. Though her nudity and suggestive scenes might have derailed a modern career, Spacek navigates the material with a blend of vulnerability and resilience. Her Poppy evolves from a terrified victim to an empowered agent of vengeance, culminating in a final act of violence that cements her agency. Spacek’s performance—equal parts innocence and steel—demonstrates her early talent, foreshadowing her iconic roles in Badlands (1973), Carrie (1976), and Coal Miner’s Daughter (1980).

Modern critics might dismiss Prime Cut as misogynistic or homophobic, particularly given its treatment of female characters and the ambiguous relationship between Mary Ann and Weenie. Yet to reduce the film to its flaws is to overlook its historical significance. Released during Hollywood’s transitional phase, it captures a moment when studios were willing to take risks—both creatively and ethically—that would soon be stifled by the more prudishness in MPAA ratings system.

While Prime Cut is far from a masterpiece, it can be seen as a curiosity and a testament to the era’s audacity. Its exploitation elements, though crass, were part of a broader cultural shift that paved the way for more complex explorations of rural America. For all its flaws, the film also gave Sissy Spacek her breakout role, proving that even within the confines of exploitation cinema, talent could shine through.

RATING: 6/10 (++)

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