In The Connection, eight heroin addicts wait in a dingy, high-ceilinged New York apartment for the man who will bring them the white powder on which their lives depend. As they wait, four of them get up, one by one, and talk about themselves and the others in the room. The remaining four do not talk, but instead express themselves through jazz, playing as the mood strikes them. Finally, the man with the powder--the connection--arrives, and each junkie follows him in turn to the bathroom for his fix. There is more talk.

Such a "slice-of-life" film invites artificiality and self-conscious artiness. The Connection tries to avoid this problem by incorporating the film-making process into the film itself. The two cameramen join in the action and the talk. They are making an avant-garde documentary about drug addiction; they want to be "natural."

The Connection was originally produced as a play at the Living Theater in New York where a similar method of overcoming the inherent artificiality of the situation was used: again there were two men making a movie, and the audience had supposedly been invited to watch the filming. The play's success in breaking down the barriers between the audience and the performers was complete. You could see the actors, and more importantly, they could see you, they were in the same room with you. During the intermission, they mixed with the crowd in character, bumming cigarettes and money. During the play--which was largely improvised--they made remarks about members of the audience and roamed up and down the aisles. By the end of the second act, when the junkies entice one of the cameramen into taking a fix, the audience had been throughly involved; I, for one felt that I knew the misery and desperation of narcotics addiction.

This kind of communication between the actors and the audience had been throughly involved; I, for one, version of The Connection inevitably lacks the incredible, searing emotional impact of the play. In the movie, the two cameramen play a central role. Everything is seen through their eyes and lenses and it is only through them that the junkies can speak to their anonymous audience. Middlemen sap the film's power.

Still, The Connection is an excellent movie which can stand on its own feet. Shirley Clarke, the director, uses her cameras (which both record and participate in the action) with subtle skill. After one of the filmmakers has taken heroin, Miss Clarke has his camera search out patterns in the stains and cracks of the walls.

The actors, all of whom were in the off Broadway production, are excellent. There is almost no plot: the film is carried through by the characters the actors create. All are distinct, interesting personalities, warped or beaten or hardened by their addiction: Leach (Warren Finnerty), terrified, somewhat effeminate, tormented by a boil on his neck; Ernie (Garry Goodrow), young, hypersensitive, a frustrated musician who toots pathetically on a mouthpiece because his saxophone is in hock; Solly (Jerome Raphael), crudite, witty, said and wise; and Sam (James Anderson), simple, naive, and humane.

As Cowboy, the connection, Carl Lee turns in the best performance of the movie: he is bitter and cool with his eyes, his hands, his whole body. And in the role of Jim Dunn, the filmmaker who follows the others into the john for a fix, Roscoe Browne conveys insecurity and fear with stilted mannerisms and gauche use of hip slang. The four musicians (Freddie Redd, Piano; Jackie McLean, alto sax; Michael Mattos, bass; Larry Ritchie, drums) play hard-driving, original jazz of the Charlie Parker variety and are believable addicts as well.

Jack Gelber's screenplay provides a loose framework in which the actors develop their roles. What symbolism he introduces is entirely appropriate. For instance, Cowboy dresses all in white, like an angel, and he brings with him Sister Salvation (Barbara Winchester), a little old lady with whom he has allied himself as protection against the police. While the addicts file in for their fixes, she delivers a little sermon, but the salvation she offers is as insubstantial as Cowboy's.

The Connection is an important film which represents something new in American movies. It is experimental in technique and daring in execution. It takes place entirely in one room; yet the skill of its director, writer and actors have made it a continuously fascinating, even gripping, work of art.