Daily News from New York, New York • 511

rO nun reid i i Dustin Hoffman, as the glue holding all the bits of paper together, and somehow they manage the to it impossible task of submerging their own superstar images to literally become the reporters they are playing. Redford's well-bred. Ivy League charm is used to good advantage as Woodward, while Hoff-man's rumpled, chain-smoking Bernstein Is CnloVv7 iHhe foogj ffiislh). a perfect counterpart. As different as they are, they merge into one molecular" structure in a powerful scene that gave me goosebumps.

On a color TV set, the mob cheers the Nixon victory in Miami while the plastic persona is bathed in the glow of balloons and confetti. The two reporters watch, all alone in the midnight hush of the empty newsroom as they prepare, exhausted and battered, the headline story that will shock -J linnr Spring: must be here, because new movies are blossoming: faster than the trees in Central Park. The biggest, best and most likely to have a rich, powerful future is "All The President! Men, the gripping, suspenseful and thoroughly satisfying film version of the best seller by Washington Post reporters Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward about you know what happened to which presidential administration. It's the movie they said could not be made, and frankly, I am amazed that they made it with such style and coherence. Just to think about Watergate (and there are those, I'm told, who prefer not to) is to chatter the brain with a million details, telephone conversations, notebook jottings, investigations and technical problems that could be very dull indeed on film.

Awesomely, and with tremendous intelligence, Alan Pakula, the director, has assembled each element with the panache of a mystery novelist. The result is a movie that literally keeps the audience glued to the edge of the seat with nail-biting tension and excitement. It started June 1, 1972, when President Nixon's helicopter was arriving for a visit to Congress and an address to the nation via network TV. In. another part of five men were ing into the National Democratic Headquarters at the Watergate Hotel.

It was an unspectacular story. Just another robbery for page 30. Cub reporter Bob Woodward, who had only been with the Post a few months, was sent to cover it. But Woodward, in his calm, curious way, smelled a rat. Was it just a routine burglary pulled by crazy Cubans? If so, why was Howard Hunt's name in one of their address books? The trail of suspicion led to Charles Colson, a special consultant to Nixon himself.

Before you could say "Stop the presses, boys, I've got a story that's gonna break this town wide open," what started out as a police-blotter yarn led Woodward and his byline-sharer, Carl Bernstein, to uncover the crime of the century, a frontpage nerve-ripper that involved the FBI. CIA, Justice Department and even the White House. They precipitated the greatest Constitutional crisis since the Civil War and changed the course of history for the entire world. How they did it, what they did. what they had to go through to convince their editors and why that is what "All The President's Men" is about.

Though it grieves' me to know some people will avoid what they think is a movie about Watergate, this movie is about much more. t'Even if you are simply seeking entertainment, it will satisfy your needs and fulfill your stiffest demands. Written with craftsmanlike precision by William Goldman and directed with brilliance and cinematic skill by Alan Pakula, "All The President's Men" works on several levels. It contains every element of mystery, tension and suspense indigenous to a rreat detective story. That's pretty staggering, considering the control and dignity involved.

Not one gun goes off, no bodies are slashed and there are no souped-up action sequences. Yet my heart pounded harder than it has in any saga I've seen in the past few years. The Watergate mystery is evenly matched by the flavor and excitement of newspaper work. I found the behind-the-scenes stuff about how certain stories are selected, what reporters endure, what editors say behind closed doors about the news they print and the newsmakers who make the headlines almost as fascinating and hypnotic as the Watergate case itself. Goldman's dialogue is natural, full-bodied and surging with ruts.

Atmosphere blends with facts in every scene. No stone is left unturned. Hal Holbrook is sinister and shuddery as "Deep Throat," the secret contact who dispenses confidential information in clandestine meetings in basement garages. (Woodward has consistently refused to reveal his true identity, although many insiders suspect Patrick Gray.) "Jane Alexander is edgily moving as a bookkeeper for the Committee to Re-Elect the President who becomes the reporters': first- reluctant witness. Frank Wills, the security guard who saw the taped-open Watergate door and called the police, plays himself.

Other key figures are authentically portrayed by Stephen Collins (a dead ringer for Hugh Sloan, the Committee's treasurer) and Richard Herd as James W. McCord, Jr. On the newspaper side, Jason Robards is wonderful, as Ben Bradlee, executive editor of the Washington whose demand for facts instead of theories almost turns the boys gray-haired overnight: Jack Warden, as metropolitan editor Harry 'Rosenfeld. and Martin Balsam, as managing editor Howard Simons, are so eerily natural they teem to have been born hunched over a copy desk. And there is a large but uniformly excellent supporting cast in the complicated pile-up of clues and' triumphs and dead-end streets, with a remarkable amount of time devoted to the exploration of character.

It's a staggering achievement. Best of all, however, are Robert Redford and the world and rewrite history. It's a great, hair-raising scene, filled with the silent splendor of journalism. Norman Miller once observed that without the investigation and mystery of uncovering hidden truths, journalism is just typing. Here is a story any writer would have given his Smith-Corona to get his hands on, yet a story nobody wanted to read, publish or believe.

Maybe it's my love of newspaper work, but everything in "All The President's Men" is so sparked with energy and ambiance I felt I could actually smell the carbon paper and feel the pulses quicken with the dreaded approach of deadline. This is, from all points of view, an inspiring, bold, courageous motion picture that should be required viewing for every American citizen, even if it takes an act of Congress to make them see it. It wouldn't hurt America's critics to see it, either, just to let them know the Democratic system still works. It won't be on the 10 Best list at "San Ciemente this year, but it is already on mine. A pennant-winner For pure, nutty escapism, don't miss "The Bad News Bears," a hug-gable surprise with Walter Matthau.

and Tatum O'Neal that arrives just in time for spring training, baseball and the hysteria that goes with it. Baseball and I don't know which subject fills me with more revulsion. "The Bad News Bears' is about both, and it is a credit to the talents and persuasions of everyone involved that it succeeds in pleasing even the Scroogiest curmudgeon like me. Poor carburetor-faced Matthau. He's an ex-athlete who cleans swimming pools.

For extra bread, he takes on the coaching of a Little League team called The Bears. They are awful. There's a smart aleck who knows all about Hank Aaron but can't hit the side of a house with a rock, a baby Hin-denburg- who eats' so much chocolate the balls slide across second base like mudpies. Mexican kidji who can't speak English and one little loony who never speaks but who makes an excellent martini. Matthau takes one look at these losers and guzzles beer, smokes ci pars, cusses a blue streak and passes out on the playing field.

Most of the teams are sponsored by Pizza Hut chains or Denny's. The Bears are sponsored by Chico's Bail Bonds. By their second rune of the season, they almost get to first base in the fourth inning. It's the biggest disaster since the Bob bsey Twins crashed their canoe in Cherry Corners. Enter Tatum O'Neal, a tough kid who pitches a mean curve but is too little to grow any of her own.

"I'm through with all that tomboy stuff," growls pitching whiz Tatum, -who has a legitimate job selling' maps to movie stars' homes. "I'm almost 12, and 111 be getting a bra soon!" But she accepts the challenge in exchange for ballet lessons and French jeans. Add one juvenile delinquent who knocks balls over the field faster than he can outrun the vice squad, and The Bears are on their way to. winning the pennant and a few hard hearts in the bargain. I must be old-fashioned.

I thought kids went home school, did their homework, watched "The Waltons" after dinner and hit the sack by 10. The kids in this movie would make Mae West blush, and if they watch anything, it's "Deep Throat." Vet I'm told by people who have lids of their own that the raunchy dialogue in the picture is totally accurate. They are no-neck monsters, but they grow on you. Walter Matthau looks like he could sell them for tax shelters, 'and Tatum O'Neal has the charm of a pint-fcized. Wallace Beery.

They work beautifully together. The movLe is drenched in sweetness. Some of it sticks in the craw like a Hershey hangover, ilkh-aet Ritchie, who squeezed the last drop of lemon extract from "Smile," gets more out of "The Bad News Bears" than I thought possible. I enjoyed its silliness and reveled in its fresh, ancompHcated pood-naturedness, but I went away with no fres-creases in my brain. In his most memorable moment, Matthau stifles a scream, starts all over again and announces to the team: "This is a baseball!" And, dear audience, this is a lollipop.

it -sJ Stalling h'is prey; ROBERT (Woodward) REDFORD scents something big in "All the President's Men..