1934. Young adults Bonnie Parker, a waitress, and Clyde Barrow, a criminal just released from prison, are immediately attracted to what the other represents for their life when they meet by chance in West Dallas, Texas. Bonnie is fascinated with Clyde's criminal past, and his matter-of-factness and bravado in talking about it. Clyde sees in Bonnie someone sympatico to his goals in life. Although attracted to each other physically, a sexual relationship between the two has a few obstacles to happen. Regardless, they decide to join forces to embark on a life of crime, holding up whatever establishments, primarily banks, to make money and to have fun. They don't plan on hurting anyone physically or killing anyone despite wielding loaded guns. They amass a small gang of willing accomplices, including C.W. Moss, a mechanic to fix whatever cars they steal which is important especially for their getaways, and Buck Barrow, one of Clyde's older brothers. The only reluctant tag-along is Buck's ... Written by
They met in 1930. She was stark naked, yelling at him out the window while he tried to steal her mother's car. In a matter of minutes they robbed a store, fired a few shots and then stole somebody else's car. At that point they had not yet been introduced. See more »
While it was most likely W.D. Jones' interview with police shortly after his capture that lead to rumors of Clyde being a homosexual (as well as Bonnie supposedly being a nymphomaniac), in a November 1968 interview with Playboy, W.D. claims he does not know where those rumors started. In the interview, he is quoted as saying, "I've heard stories since that Clyde was homosexual, or, as they say in the pen, a "punk," but they ain't true. Maybe it was Clyde's quiet, polite manner and his slight build that fooled folks. He was only about five feet, six inches tall and he weighed no more than 135 pounds. Me and him was about the same size, and we used to wear each other's clothes. Clyde had dark hair that was wavy. He never had a beard. Even when he didn't shave, all he had on his chin was fuzz. Another way that story might have got started was his wearing a wig sometimes when him and Bonnie had to drive through a town where they might be recognized. He wore the wig for disguise and for no other reason. Clyde never walked right, either. He'd chopped off his big toe and part of the second toe on his left foot when he was in prison, because he couldn't keep up, with the pace the farm boss set. Or the story could have come from sensation writers who believed anything dropped on them and who blew it to proportions that suited their imagination. I knew alot of convicts the years I was in prison - some of them years on Eastham Farm where Clyde had served his time-and none of them had a story on him being a punk. Matter of fact, nobody - not the police who asked me questions for hours and hours or the reporters who got in to see me-ever mentioned it. The subject just never come up then. It's just here recently, more than 30 years since Clyde was killed, that I've heard the story. I was with him and Bonnie. I know. It just ain't true." See more »
In the scene with the homeowner being evicted by the Midlothian National Bank, after the two homeowners shoot the gun, the homeowner hands the gun to Clyde handle end first, and the very next scene shows Clyde grabbing the barrel of the pistol. See more »
Although numerous chapters in cinema manuals have been dedicated to Arthur Penn's violent, jagged, cynical "Bonnie and Clyde"--and, indeed, it kick-started a new permissiveness in America movies which then generated many imitations--the first twenty or so minutes of the picture are really awful. Depression-era waitress, bored and thrill seeking, finds herself drawn to a smooth-talking, reckless hood, an ex-con who, when playfully dared to, robs a general store right in front of her. He's sexually impotent but does have a sympathetic heart for the unfortunates and the working class; she's a high-wire act, strictly amoral and greedy. Their initial meeting outside her house has all the conventions of a standard 1930s drama--and just because the movie's look is generally correct doesn't mean what's happening on the screen is original. Producer Warren Beatty and screenwriters Robert Benton and David Newman envisioned the French New Wave in regards to the film's approach and style, and their efforts paid off in this respect (it's a very good-looking picture, shot by Burnett Guffey, who won an Oscar). However, Arthur Penn's direction isn't visionary, and the multiple car-riding shots with back projection don't seem to break new ground. The film's greatest achievement aside from its textured look and feel is the casting: Beatty and Faye Dunaway do pretty marvelous work in the leads; Gene Hackman and Estelle Parsons also fine as Clyde's brother and sister-in-law (Parsons won the film's second of two Oscars as Best Supporting Actress). The violence grows increasingly, steadily, as the film inches toward its queasy conclusion, while Penn juggles (successfully at times) ribald character moments with deadly serious--and bloody--scenes (which also became fashionable). The sweat and the flies, the downtrodden and the righteous, they all get a work-out in this scenario, which, in its best moments, has a prickly-comic and dangerous edge. **1/2 from ****
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