Is the American film director Don Siegel (1912-91) on record concerning his thoughts about the auteur theory — that is to say, a critical train of thought that places the person at the helm as the primary engine of a collaborative art form? One can imagine the nuts-and-bolts Chicagoan bristling at the sheer Frenchness of the notion: “Most of my pictures, I’m sorry to say, are about nothing. Because I’m a whore. I work for money. It’s the American way.”

In a blurb accompanying an upcoming retrospective at the Metrograph, “Don Siegel: The Last of the Independents,” an anonymous scrivener describes Siegel as “a utility man … who managed to survive and thrive inside The System while taking no s— from the moneymen who run (and ruin) the movies.” So, a company man and a rebel — a man given to getting the job done, doing the job well, and not putting on airs about it. That, and we learn that Siegel was responsible for “the finest sex scene of Walter Matthau’s career.”

Should that factoid pique your interest, Matthau’s brief but scintillating moment can be found in “Charley Varrick” (1973), a crime thriller that was originally crafted for Clint Eastwood. Mr. Eastwood passed on the role, feeling that the title character had little to recommend it. Just who it was that decided Matthau was a suitable replacement is unknown, as is the reason the actor took on the role. A stretching of actorly muscles, perhaps? 

Matthau’s performance as a stunt pilot, bank robber, and ladies’ man was awarded Best Actor by the British Academy of Film and Television Arts and garnered acclamation from even the most vituperative of critics. Still, he was unhappy with the movie and famously went about bad-mouthing it. Siegel blamed the picture’s disappointing box office take on the actor’s public grousing. Not even having a “slightly better than average intelligence” could assuage Matthau’s doubts about “Charley Varrick.”

Matthau’s frustration is nowhere in evidence during the course of the movie: He seems to be having a grand old time playing it cool as a low-rent gangster. Siegel helps with a guiding hand that is typical in its terse lack of sentiment. What was once a minor light of 1970s cinema has improved with age.

A tagline emblazoned upon the jacket worn by Varrick as he tends to his day job as a crop-duster endows the Metrograph series with its title. Just how independent Siegel was as a filmmaker isn’t up for debate so much as riven with contradictions. In an homage to his mentor, director Sam Peckinpah related how Siegel “was and is constantly amazed at the idiocy of our industry, while still being delighted by its competence and professionalism.” The mannish circumspection of Siegel’s aesthetic benefited from a fraught commercial dynamic.

The five films that Siegel made with Mr. Eastwood are on the docket. “Dirty Harry” (1971) you likely know about, as is the case, perhaps, with the last film on which they worked together, “Escape From Alcatraz” (1979). But then there’s a Civil War gothic, “The Beguiled” (1971): Was the novel by Thomas B. Cullinan on which the picture was based as weird and kinky as its cinematic transcription? 

A wounded Union soldier, John Burney (Mr. Eastwood), is taken in by the charitable souls at a woman’s seminary in deepest Mississippi. His presence subsequently transforms the place into — well, calling it “a den of iniquity” is putting it mildly. Let’s just say that tawdry and torturous events occur, as does, alas, a gaggle of tinkly sound effects. Is Siegel’s film a study in toxic masculinity or an avowal of feminist comeuppance? Brave cineastes can look forward to flipping that coin.

The Ludlow Street arthouse will be showcasing a variety of cinematic chestnuts, including Siegel’s testament to Cold War paranoia, “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” (1956), John Wayne’s last film, the elegiac “The Shootist” (1976),” and “Riot in Cell Block 11” (1954), a public service announcement for prison reform masquerading as a tough-as-nails noir. Even at his least impressive — the much ballyhooed but aimless “The Killers” (1964) — Siegel emerges, if not unscathed, then tougher for his travails. This latter attribute may be the most American thing about him.