48 Hrs.

The movie itself can be divided into “before and after Murphy.” In its first 20 minutes, 48 Hours is a rough-hewn cop flick, full of sex, violence, and the kind of seamy detail about police-work that became the norm in the post-Dirty Harry/post-Hill Street Blues era. Then Nolte gets stuck trying to track down a violent escaped convict, and decides to question one of the crook’s old partners, who’s behind bars. Cue one of the most memorable intros in movie history: Murphy, sitting in a cell with his sunglasses and Walkman headphones on, singing The Police’s “Roxanne” off-key. Murphy isn’t doing shtick here. There are very few actual jokes in 48 Hours. While he’s funny throughout, the humor is primarily a natural offshoot of his character’s personality. Murphy’s career criminal has confidence and nuance; he’s sexually aggressive and aware of every angle. He has history beyond mere comic relief.

Because 48 Hours was directed by economical genre specialist Hill, it moves relentlessly, with scarcely a wasted scene or shot in its 96 minutes. And because it’s an early example of the buddy-cop movie, it features multiple scenes and elements that later became cliché, as when Nolte’s shouty African-American boss tells him he needs to be “more of a team player and less of a hot dog.” It would be a solid actioner even without Murphy, anchored by the almost-as-colorful Nolte, whose character is so disheveled and abrasive that he’s constantly threatened with arrest by cops who don’t realize he’s one of them. As Nolte baits Murphy with racially charged insults (some overt, some subtle), 48 Hours plays with the question of which of these two men has the power in their relationship: the washed-up authority figure, or the smooth-talking law-breaker? But as good as Nolte is in this movie, there’s really no contest. As soon as Murphy steps out of his cell, it’s clear he’s planning to stick around.

Key features: None, though the Blu-ray transfer looks good.