American GigoloLiving outside of the law means that when you're victimized, you're forced to rely upon the good graces of others for support. American Gigolo is a neo-noir drama and mystery about a male prostitute named Julian Kaye (Richard Gere), who leads a lavish--yet hollow--existence in Los Angeles. After one of his clients--courtesy of a one-off favor for a colleague named Leon (Bill Duke)--turns up dead and a tenacious detective named Sunday (Hector Elizondo) starts interrogating him over Julian's whereabouts on the night of the murder, this playboy-for-hire starts to realize that his freedom is solely dependent on an alibi he cannot provide, because it would incriminate him.
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Written and directed by Paul Schrader, American Gigolo feels distinctly in tune with the rest of the filmmaker's body of work, predominantly centered around men who live solitary existences and are confronted with a crisis that fundamentally shakes their values or worldview, what he has called "God's lonely man". What sets Julian apart from many of his Schrader counterparts--such as Travis Bickle of Taxi Driver or Pastor Ernst Toller in (a favorite film of mine) First Reformed--is that Julian, for all intents and purposes, is living the high life from the start of American Gigolo. One might even get the impression at first that Julian's extralegal career is deliberately made to appear enticing, with him driving down the highway in his Mercedes convertible, going shopping for stylish suits, and seemingly leading a life of leisure. So what if he has to sleep with a few older ladies now and again; he seems to enjoy his work and his life. He debates his level of compensation with his coordinator (read: pimp), Anne (Nina van Pallandt), who calls him arrogant. And Julian is arrogant. He knows that he's fit, handsome, and in demand. So what if his fellows don't care for his semi-conceited attitude? He has made this life one that he can be proud of...if only in secret. But in fact, Julian revels in hollow pleasure. He doesn't learn "five or six" languages because he has any great desire to see the world; it's so that he can get more diverse work, i.e. women visiting from other countries. He doesn't collect art because he has any sense of appreciation for it; it's so that he can discuss it's merits with his clients and be more desirable to them in kind. And I'm fairly convinced that all of those books in his apartment have never been read. At one point, Julian eyes a lovely and lonely woman sitting by herself at a bar. He approaches her thinking that she is looking for a "guide" because she is speaking French. Her name is Michelle (Lauren Hutton), and she explains that she is merely practicing. After she reveals that she is married, Julian tries to politely excuse himself, and yet she propositions him; he refuses. Julian smells a trap, but his sense of danger has been muddied, since he falls into another, far worse, trap later. Michelle visits his apartment later and again solicits sex. Somewhere in Julian's heart, her sadness touches him and they begin an affair. Julian half-jokes afterward that his bed is like the center of his world, even though he doesn't bring clients back there. But he is correct in a way. Julian seems completely naïve to the dangers inherent to his profession. The only clue the audience gets of this darkness comes when he goes to the Rheiman home. The husband (Tom Stewart) wants Julian to sleep with his wife (Patty Carr) while he watches. But Mr. Rheiman begins to order Julian to subjugate and degrade her. The scene cuts away, as disgusted by the prospect of sexual violence as Julian is; and then Mrs. Rheiman is reported to have been murdered and her jewelry has been stolen from her home. Suddenly Julian's joie de vivre is replaced with a cold sweat.
Julian's life starts to twist and distort after Sunday shows up. It is the first instance where he seems to be genuinely concerned that his occupation is against the law. At one point, Julian foolishly tells Sunday that he believes that some people are just superior to the rest of society, and so the law doesn't apply to them, suggesting that he's talking about himself and his trade. Of course hubris is key to this story, and Julian is eventually forced to face his own as he comes to realize how impotent he really is in his occupation (metaphorically speaking). He ultimately shares with Sunday that he has an alibi, that he was with a client named Lisa Williams (K Callan). And yet, when Sunday checks it out, he tells Julian that she claimed that he left in the early evening, and that nothing untoward happened. Julian doesn't come right out and say that he slept with Lisa, but Sunday must have figured that this was what Julian was speaking to. But the confused Julian, who later visits Lisa's mansion, doesn't understand why she refused to corroborate his alibi...until her husband shows up behind her and claims that she was home with him on the night of the murder. This is when it becomes overwhelmingly clear that Julian, who heretofore believed that he was the one steering the ship of his own life, is truly subject to the discretion of others. Everyone knows that since he is engaged in an illegal trade; and not only do they stand to prosper by not associating with this part of his life, but more importantly, he can't do anything about their denial. It's not like there was a receipt or anything. And Julian begins to suspect that it isn't just that the police have mistaken him for a killer, but that he is actually being framed for the murder. Realizing that his actual alibi is unreliable, he turns to Leon to help fabricate one for him. But what honor is there among those who live their lives in a mercenary fashion? Money talks, and despite his posturing, Julian doesn't have anything to bargain with that Leon needs, except perhaps becoming his "employee". The sole light in Julian's increasingly darkening life comes from Michelle, who Julian inadvertently learns is married to a politician, who in turn tries to buy off Julian from seeing his wife anymore. Julian refuses, but whether is it out of pride or some awakening nobility, none can say.
Julian's descent into desperation and helplessness is reflected in the subtle transition of the film from a glossy, stylish, yet ultimately superficial romp for the suave escort into a dark and shadowy nightmare. Begin with the song performed by Blondie, "Call Me", composed by Giorgio Moroder--a song which would go on to become one of the band's greatest hits. The song is first introduced in its most recognizable form, as a light and effervescent disco track which Julian listens to as he glides down the highway in his fancy car, his perfect hair not even mussed by the winds. But as the film progresses, the score is largely comprised of a variation on this song, slowed in tempo, lowered in pitch, until all of the joy that accompanied it from the start is bled dry. Or consider a visual cue evident in the film's poster: the use of light filtered through blinds to create the sense of imprisonment. As night descends on Julian in his apartment, the glow of the city and those blinds make his stylish suits take on the ever-so-subtle look of a prisoner's outfit. And Julian does become a prisoner in his own home and in his life. Someone has it out for him, or perhaps they're just using him because it's convenient to incriminate a criminal; before long, nowhere seems safe. One of the most fascinating scenes that exemplifies this comes after Julian sees a young blonde man leave his apartment complex, someone who he believes he saw with Leon previously at a gay bar. Julian tears his home and car apart to find out whether evidence has been planted by the young man to incriminate him. These were the shrines to his own vanity, and now he destroys them out of panic and paranoia. Julian's crisis is now that he realizes the shallowness of his lifestyle, of his relationships, and most tragically, of himself, and he is powerless to do anything about it. His image becomes dirty and he lacks any of the confidence which made him so alluring to his clients. What is left for him when the fantasy has faded away?
Recommended for: Fans of a compelling drama and mystery that traffics in themes of subjective morality and legality. Like Julian's lifestyle, American Gigolo entices audiences into its fold with sex appeal, but over time cannot help but reveal the dark and seedy underbelly below the surface of such a world. It challenges audiences by asking us to explore how we exploit others for our own comfort, especially where it concerns those people operating outside of the law.
Julian's life starts to twist and distort after Sunday shows up. It is the first instance where he seems to be genuinely concerned that his occupation is against the law. At one point, Julian foolishly tells Sunday that he believes that some people are just superior to the rest of society, and so the law doesn't apply to them, suggesting that he's talking about himself and his trade. Of course hubris is key to this story, and Julian is eventually forced to face his own as he comes to realize how impotent he really is in his occupation (metaphorically speaking). He ultimately shares with Sunday that he has an alibi, that he was with a client named Lisa Williams (K Callan). And yet, when Sunday checks it out, he tells Julian that she claimed that he left in the early evening, and that nothing untoward happened. Julian doesn't come right out and say that he slept with Lisa, but Sunday must have figured that this was what Julian was speaking to. But the confused Julian, who later visits Lisa's mansion, doesn't understand why she refused to corroborate his alibi...until her husband shows up behind her and claims that she was home with him on the night of the murder. This is when it becomes overwhelmingly clear that Julian, who heretofore believed that he was the one steering the ship of his own life, is truly subject to the discretion of others. Everyone knows that since he is engaged in an illegal trade; and not only do they stand to prosper by not associating with this part of his life, but more importantly, he can't do anything about their denial. It's not like there was a receipt or anything. And Julian begins to suspect that it isn't just that the police have mistaken him for a killer, but that he is actually being framed for the murder. Realizing that his actual alibi is unreliable, he turns to Leon to help fabricate one for him. But what honor is there among those who live their lives in a mercenary fashion? Money talks, and despite his posturing, Julian doesn't have anything to bargain with that Leon needs, except perhaps becoming his "employee". The sole light in Julian's increasingly darkening life comes from Michelle, who Julian inadvertently learns is married to a politician, who in turn tries to buy off Julian from seeing his wife anymore. Julian refuses, but whether is it out of pride or some awakening nobility, none can say.
Julian's descent into desperation and helplessness is reflected in the subtle transition of the film from a glossy, stylish, yet ultimately superficial romp for the suave escort into a dark and shadowy nightmare. Begin with the song performed by Blondie, "Call Me", composed by Giorgio Moroder--a song which would go on to become one of the band's greatest hits. The song is first introduced in its most recognizable form, as a light and effervescent disco track which Julian listens to as he glides down the highway in his fancy car, his perfect hair not even mussed by the winds. But as the film progresses, the score is largely comprised of a variation on this song, slowed in tempo, lowered in pitch, until all of the joy that accompanied it from the start is bled dry. Or consider a visual cue evident in the film's poster: the use of light filtered through blinds to create the sense of imprisonment. As night descends on Julian in his apartment, the glow of the city and those blinds make his stylish suits take on the ever-so-subtle look of a prisoner's outfit. And Julian does become a prisoner in his own home and in his life. Someone has it out for him, or perhaps they're just using him because it's convenient to incriminate a criminal; before long, nowhere seems safe. One of the most fascinating scenes that exemplifies this comes after Julian sees a young blonde man leave his apartment complex, someone who he believes he saw with Leon previously at a gay bar. Julian tears his home and car apart to find out whether evidence has been planted by the young man to incriminate him. These were the shrines to his own vanity, and now he destroys them out of panic and paranoia. Julian's crisis is now that he realizes the shallowness of his lifestyle, of his relationships, and most tragically, of himself, and he is powerless to do anything about it. His image becomes dirty and he lacks any of the confidence which made him so alluring to his clients. What is left for him when the fantasy has faded away?
Recommended for: Fans of a compelling drama and mystery that traffics in themes of subjective morality and legality. Like Julian's lifestyle, American Gigolo entices audiences into its fold with sex appeal, but over time cannot help but reveal the dark and seedy underbelly below the surface of such a world. It challenges audiences by asking us to explore how we exploit others for our own comfort, especially where it concerns those people operating outside of the law.