To Live and Die in L.A.

For the first hour or so, I was a bit uneasy with William Friedkin’s adaptation of Gerald Petievich’s source novel of the same name. It was too seemingly in love with extrajudicial federal agents playing by their own rules, the sort of manifestation of the criticisms leveled at Dirty Harry, and then the film makes some choices that make it obvious that this is less of a celebration than a cautionary tale, a tragedy. Throw on top Friedkin’s expert use of editing and his camera, and you’ve got...