AMERICAN GIGOLO: 4K UHD Blu-ray (Paramount, 1980) Arrow Academy

Interesting to reflect upon how much, and yet, how little has changed in Hollywood since the debut of director, Paul Schrader’s American Gigolo (1980), the picture that catapulted actor, Richard Gere into the stratosphere as an all-American heartthrob. And please, no gerbil jokes in the comments section. They’re old and do not hold up nearly half as well as this elegantly tricked out time capsule, devoted to the world’s oldest profession. American Gigolo hit theaters as a sticky little delight in the summer of 1980, just as America was emerging from under the inflation-strapped yoke of the Carter administration; a very hungry, consumer-driven lion, leant class-consciousness and conspicuous consumer consumption with a flair for the goodies that only a Platinum Visa could buy. This spend/spend like there’s no tomorrow was to become a way of life in the 80’s, an epoch where, ostensibly, money rocked/horsepucky walked, and, everything, even human beings, was being offered up on the auction block.

Arguably, American Gigolo set a standard here, with its glitzy excess in elegant interiors of the, alas, since demolished Perino’s nightclub/restaurant, and, bygone Sunset Plaza Apartments – serving as the fashionable abode of our high-priced hustler, Julian Kaye (played with sinful aloofness by Richard Gere). Gere puts on the dog, but frequently sports precious little other than his man’s pride in Paul Schrader’s fizzler of a thriller. Important to note, American Gigolo was heavily influenced by director, Paul Bresson’s 1959 French classic, Pickpocket – an existentialist ‘new wave’ masterpiece it, in no artistic way, rivals.  And also, very important to recall, American Gigolo was not a hit when it premiered, perhaps, as it seemed too dark in its underlying sadism and fatalism, running concurrent to a conspiracy, prematurely set to snuff out a luscious rake in full progress.

Curious too, to reconsider Gere’s Julian Kaye as ‘the stud’ of the piece. Fair enough, Gere is in his physical prime. And he plays the initial scenes of being ‘kept’ in style by a bevy of middle-aged Beverly Hills’ ‘benefactrices’, eager to be seen with his eye candy on their arms, as the quality affair sold at a premium. But Gere is also playing a real bastard here. And all too soon we realize Kaye is only worldly in the ways of a cheap trick, tricked out in Armani. He’s good – very good – at selling an image. But look closer. Because, there is nothing behind it. And before long, Julian’s ego proves his undoing, as he is utterly naïve and unprepared for the insidious plot to frame him for a murder he did not commit. Julian is, in fact, a rube - just a guy who ought to have stayed in the Midwest, except his tastes bend to the finer men’s boutiques dotting Rodeo Drive than dungarees bought on sale at Woolworth. Nevertheless, Schrader’s direction and screenplay empathize with Julian Kaye. It’s not comeuppance Schrader’s after, even as Julian gets knocked pretty hard off his tuffet as the socially-concocted, brash boy toy of yesteryear.

Los Angeles can be a very tantalizing den of iniquity for a guy with Julian’s pro forma. He knows his way around a gold card – especially with the ladies; older broads toting plenty of inheritance to spend on a better-than-average time with their young buck du jour. Class will out. Alas, a hick – even one as seemingly Teflon-coated as Julian, is still, just a hick. Julian has come a very long way in a very short while, thanks to his alliance with Swede sex-promoter, Anne (Nina van Pallandt); his…um…manager? Agent? Pimp? Anne knows a hard man is good to find, and frequently sets Julian up on some very high-profile ‘dates’ with her most discerning clientele. It's a good gig, insofar as gigs go. But Julian has very expensive tastes. So, he is also into after hours pick-ups; ‘favors’ done for low rent scum-bucket, Leon (Bill Duke). Anne wishes Julian would give Leon up. After all, Leon needs Julian more than the other way around. But Julian merely wishes Anne would shut up…or set him up with more of her velvet-gloved goddesses.

Herein, we doff our caps to Paul Schrader whose direction and authorship has yielded one of the most deliciously trashy, iconic – if now, absurdly dated – cultural touchstones of the 1980’s. With its trendy techno score by Giorgio Moroder and Blondie belting out the smash single, ‘Call Me’ - every self-respecting male escort’s anthem - American Gigolo all but ushered in the decade of veritable excess, distinctly capitalist ‘American’ pleasure-seeking. And yet, what is often overlooked is Schrader’s ability to resist the usual trappings of the ‘sex thriller’ (a sub-genre reaching its zenith with 1986’s 9 ½ Weeks) and, instead, search for the kernels of wisdom to be mined from this super kitsch. John Bailey’s cinematography ventures beyond the sun-soaked California of half-naked, perky-bosomed playthings. Right from the opening scenes depicting Julian’s Mercedes barreling down the coastal highway, something is decidedly remiss about this backdrop of fun-in-the-sun frolics for cash. And gradually, Schrader scales back on the haughty and exclusive watering holes where the social elite mingle to descend into seedier cesspools, populated by cruisin’ for a bruisin’ deviants, couples into pain, and, enterprising gay hustlers for hire.   

Schrader’s métier here, and modus operandi for the piece itself is not to indulge the ‘kink’ factor. In fact, American Gigolo is remarkably ‘PG’ in its exploitation of sex for cash. Nor is the focus on fornication – good, bad or just plain creepy. Given the movie’s title and subject matter, ironically there is not even a single French kiss in close-up. Gere’s cynical con is much too calculating to placate our need for such gratuitous foreplay. Setting aside American Gigolo’s highly sanitized bent on prostitution, fancifully represented as profitable for only a few hours work, without even a whiff of STD’s, Schrader’s dog and pony show for those who enjoy getting down on all fours, kicks off as a guilty pleasure, but then steadily subverts our expectation for a more hardcore affair. To be sure, Schrader knows what the audience has paid to see. So, there are fleeting glimpses of Julian Kaye as rarified beefcake, dangling upside down in his gravity boots as he practices Swedish, hoisting weights and doing inversion exercises - a muscly, Nair-ed hunk for sale.  And there is also a brief sequence, where Kaye is set up for an S&M hire, expected to brutalize the wife of a husband who likes to watch. Yet, the audience never gets to see the actual smut. It’s all just implied.

So, Julian Kaye is not the only one having been sold a bill of goods. The audience, arguably, isn’t getting their money’s worth either. And yet, this is only true if our expectations are merely to be titillated by American Gigolo as a precursor of that latter-age flicks of more deviant and distasteful flick; the aforementioned 9 ½ Weeks, Adrien Lyne’s Fatal Attraction (1987) and, the granddaddy of them all - Basic Instinct (1992). Setting these exemplars aside, American Gigolo is not interested in gratuitous encounters to bookend the plot. Instead, it’s a far more intricately plot-driven exposé about a guy afforded undeniable physical attributes, but little self-worth, fallen into a trap of his own design…with a little help. Julian Kaye does what he does because it’s his business. Even so, he has grown tired of the heavy lifting. Despite hefty payouts and lots of perks (an enviable ride, expense account, a closet-full of designer suits, shirts, shoes and ties) Julian’s bored with ‘the scene’. Because even with his reputation as a high-class stud, Julian cannot market what he sells without Anne or Leon’s connections. So, it’s tough to be hot and hired out like a prized Shetland. And truer still, it’s a young man’s game with no future. Looks do fade, as does agility and interest.  

What American Gigolo does spectacularly well is to strip bare the sex trade for what it actually is; real work, unglamorous, and, without even the advantages a novice in training might otherwise expect. Schrader’s tread on the ‘downside’ that comes from being a stud for hire, waffles during the picture’s middle act, where he needlessly inserts the formulaic romance between Julian and scissor-legged, Michelle Stratton (Lauren Hutton in a role originally pitched to Julie Christie, then Meryl Streep). It’s clear, Schrader is hoping to humanize Julian by softening his ambivalent resolve with the one woman who, presumably, has all the answers to questions he hasn’t even yet considered to ask. But then, there is the ‘whodunit’ to consider too; taking the initial premise and stirring it into more of a gumbo than soufflé. It’s all fun and games until Julian is framed for the murder of Judy Rheiman (Patricia Carr), a gal he was paid to sexually brutalized against his better judgment, but with her complicity, and, at her husband’s (Tom Stewart) request. Everyone walks away from this encounter – a little hair and fibers rubbed off around the collar and cuffs, but otherwise unharmed. Afterward Julian is disgusted, telling Leon he is not into S&M. The Rheimans were his first to last. Too bad, Judy Rheiman is found asphyxiated and handcuffed after another apparent rough trade encounter, the kind for which Julian has no stomach, and furthermore, with which he had absolutely nothing to do. Try convincing LAPD Detective Joe Sunday (Hector Elizondo) of as much.

The Rheiman encounter runs true to Schrader’s sleeker artistic sensibilities. Mercifully, we never bear witness to Julian’s encounter after his initial promise to ‘take care of’ Judy. All the better, since the vicissitude of the moment suddenly shifts beneath Julian’s feet as Mr. Rheiman orders him to paddle-whack his practically comatose wife in her unmentionables. Schrader does this moment proud, only suggestive of the orgy that is to follow, without coarsening the audience in a visual explicit 'show and tell'. Bondage for money aside, the passionate pas deux between Julian and Michelle is as deftly handled to evoke a sense of genuine uncomfortableness. We are shown body parts in close-up, mostly arms and legs wrapped around each other, chests tightly pressed together, hands strategically placed to shield from any raw glimpses of breasts or genitalia. As something of an afterthought, Lauren Hutton’s perky cleavage makes a belated appearance, lazily unguarded during Michelle’s casual post-coital conversation with Julian. While Schrader is sheepish about the female form divine, he has no compunction showcasing male anatomy. Richard Gere poses in front of a window for an interminably long take, full frontal for his ‘confession’ to Michelle about taking nearly three hours to ‘get off’ another client.  Yet, even the sight of Gere’s twig and berries is not designed to ‘get off’ the audience. In fact, there is something antiseptic, ‘matter of fact’, and almost French ‘new wave’ about this moment. Schrader doesn’t ‘go for the crotch’, even if the audience is given the full flourish of Julian’s manhood to ogle.

Richard Gere’s star power received a minor boost from appearing as the hot-headed young con in Terrence Malick’s Days of Heaven (1978), a performance, later heavily edited by Malick into a series of impressionistic vignettes. There is something to be said for Malick’s technique, because it masked one of Gere’s glaring shortcomings, namely, he can’t act – or rather, act convincingly. With American Gigolo, Gere emerged a full-fledged ‘star’, in spite of this deficit. There is a petulance to Gere. An impatience too. It bodes well for his alter ego; an anti-heroic, turbo-charged sex toy, simultaneously hitting his stride and a plateau usually reserved for women a la Hollywood’s casting couch. Interestingly, Gere was not Schrader’s first choice to fill Julian Kaye’s shoes. Actor, Christopher Reeve was tapped, but gun shy about tarnishing his ‘image’ as Hollywood’s latest he-hunk. John Travolta also exited stage left, after actually committing to the project and having shot several scenes in Julian’s well-tailored wardrobe. Travolta’s sudden departure presented designer, Giorgio Armani with a minor predicament as all of Julian Kaye’s suits had been tailor-fitted to Travolta’s six-foot slender build. Armani would now have to re-imagine an entirely different set of threads for Gere’s stockier, 5-11 muscularity. When American Gigolo premiered, it instantly established Armani as the foremost couturier of men’s luxury clothing in America.

In hindsight, Gere owes considerably more of his success to Travolta, or rather, Travolta’s inability to perceive winners. Retrospectively, Travolta turned down not only Days of Heaven and American Gigolo, but also, An Officer and a Gentleman (1982) and Chicago (2002). Gere has since gone on record saying what intrigued him most about Julian Kaye was the character’s ‘gay subtext’ - an interesting comment, considering how little homo-erotica there is in the finished film. Yes - Leon is frequently trying to get Julian to partake of ‘mixed couple’ scenarios. Julian staunchly refuses to do ‘fag tricks.’ There is also a scene where Julian confronts Leon inside a gay nightclub, he seems to be all too familiar in navigating. Finally, there is the big reveal, exposing a gay hustler, having ultimately committed the murder of Judy Rheiman at Leon’s behest in order to deliberately frame Julian, thus, getting one of L.A.’s most high-profile escorts out of circulation. But beyond these ‘safe’ references to the gay underground, American Gigolo refrains from involving the audience in what was, at least in 1980, still considered highly taboo subject matter.

American Gigolo begins with establishing shots of Malibu and Beverly Hills, Gere’s cock of the walk, male escort - Julian Kaye, unknowingly zooming along in his Mercedes-Benz convertible toward destiny as he shops Kurt Geiger of Bond Street to add to his hope chest of expensive fashion accessories. Clothes do make the man. And Julian has had plenty of experience getting in and out of his. With too much ego and too little taste, Julian’s Westwood apartment is an eclectic yard sale of expensive home furnishings he has neither the time nor the interest to properly display with as much attention as is paid his immaculate wardrobe. We might look back on Julian Kaye as the first metrosexual, long before the phrase was coined, unapologetically acquisitive, self-absorbed and posturing to a fault. A quick pitstop at Anne’s to collect the dossier on his latest fling - a wealthy dowager from Charlottesville, Mrs. Dobrun (Carole Cook), and Julian is off again, negotiating a 60/40 split of the $2000 to squire Dobrun around town.  “You want 50/50, go get Mike or one of those high school dropouts you’re so fond of,” Julian cruelly tells Anne. Indeed, Julian fancies himself above this pay grade and Anne, reluctantly – very reluctantly – agrees to his terms. After all, Julian is not your average boy toy and proves it by turning down Leon’s repeated offers to inveigle him for some quick and dirty/rough trade gay sex with clients only too eager and willing to pay. Julian does not need the pall or taint of Leon’s low-budgeted sex-capades. Besides, he is in training for one of Anne’s biggest clients yet, soon to arrive from Sweden without speaking a word of English and, inevitably, looking for one hell of a good time.

Acting as Dobrun’s chauffeur, Julian drives the moneyed prune to The Beverly Hills Hotel, bungling his introduction to the services he can render by offering Dobrun a tour of her bungalow. Next, he proposes to pop the cork off her complimentary champagne bottle. This inference is a little too ‘on the nose’ for Dobrun, who subtly assures Julian, in her own uber-sophisticated way, she is a sure thing. Afterward, Julian hastens to change his mood in the Hotel’s lounge. From across the bar, he encounters Michelle Stratton seated alone and seemingly lonely. Assuming from her exchange with the waiter she speaks only French, Julian strikes up a conversation. However, Stratton is not French at all, but waiting for a friend who is helping her bone up for a planned trip to Europe. Curiously, the friend never arrives, and Julian quickly discovers Michelle is the wife of prominent California senator, Charles Stratton (Brian Davies). Presumably, like most women aligned to successful men who are never home, Michelle is not happy in her married life, playing the part of the devoted woman behind the throne, but secretly longing for a little excitement to ignite her inner youth. Julian wisely assesses she is ripe and looking for an outlet.

After several awkward ‘cute meets’, Julian and Michelle become lovers. But it’s not what either imagined. Julian is tender and Michelle falls head over heels for him. In the meantime, Julian agrees to do ‘a favor’ for Leon, resulting in his S&M badinage with the Rheimans. Mr. Rheiman, a moneyed degenerate, is paying to watch his wife be sexually humiliated. Julian is appalled by this arrangement, though nevertheless complies. After all, the Rheimans have paid for the show. It’s their party. Julian is just the featured player in their warped game of pretend. Afterwards, Julian informs Leon he will not do anymore rough trade for freaks into kink. But it is already too late. Julian has established his presence at what will soon become a crime scene. Judy Rheiman is discovered strangled to death. Det. Sunday (the always on-point, Hector Elizondo) traces the last hours of her life back to Julian, thanks to some carefully planted evidence meant to infer Julian was the very last person to see Judy Rheiman alive. So, Sunday suspects that the sadomasochistic ‘good time’ had by all either went horribly awry or ended deliberately in Judy’s death.

Julian attempts to fluff off Michelle, suggesting he is neither part of her problem, nor the answer to her prayers. Any alliance they might form can only end in tears, rejection, dismay and chaos. Michelle does not believe him. Instead, Michelle buys into Julian’s newfound nobility as a shield, meant to protect her from the scrutiny of prying eyes. Increasingly, Michelle begins to lean on Julian for emotional support. Unexpectedly, Julian finds himself reciprocating these affections. Although, Julian has an alibi for the night of the murder, another middle-aged client, Lisa Williams (K Callan), she absolutely refuses to corroborate his whereabouts to Det. Sunday, fearing her husband’s discovery of their ongoing affair. Previously, Lisa was seen with Julian at a Sotheby’s estate auction where Julian – rather badly – faked an effete fashionista’s persona to disguise the purpose of their rendezvous. Worse for Julian, someone has planted Judy Rheiman’s jewelry in his Mercedes. Sunday refuses to take seriously Julian’s claim, that he is being framed.  Meanwhile, Julian’s newfound ‘celebrity’ as a suspected murderer, ousts him from Anne employ. So, L.A.’s hottest trick in shoe leather has suddenly become persona non grata overnight. Even in the seedy underworld of gay escorts, Julian Kaye is now considered a pariah.

After tracking Leon down at a gay nightclub and begging to be set up for any tricks – gay, straight, S&M, etc. et al, and being cruelly denied, daylight begins to glimmer for Julian. Leon is being paid by Rheiman, orchestrating the perfect frame-up with the complicity of a gay hustler (Gordon Haight) who actually killed Judy. Determined, though quite unprepared for the consequences, Julian goes to Leon’s fashionable high rise to confront him. He finds the blond hustler there, with Leon gloating over Julian’s near foolproof demise. There is nothing left for Julian Kaye. The police are connecting the dots with evidence planted in and around Julian’s Westwood apartment. It is only a matter of time before he takes the fall for Judy Rheiman’s murder. Realizing how low he has sunk, Julian assaults Leon on the patio of his high rise. Leon goes over the edge, dangling precariously, with only Julian to prevent his imminent fall. Alas, Julian cannot stave off the inevitable. Despite his desperate attempts to hang on to Leon, his legs slip from his grasp. Leon plummets several stories to his death.

In a gracious whim of fate, a maid witnesses the fall and vouches for Julian’s attempts to save Leon. Thus, the police incorrectly assume Leon was in the process of taking his own life when Julian intervened. Too bad for Julian they have more than enough evidence to indict him for Judy Rheiman’s murder. In prison awaiting trial, Julian receives a visit from Michelle, the only friend he has left. She offers to pay for his defense. Julian refuses. Without his complicity, Michelle secretly hires a high-priced mouthpiece (Peter Turgeon), paying the attorney’s fees under the table, and presumably, under the radar of both her husband, and, popular public opinion that has already tried and convicted Julian Kaye as a cold-blooded killer. Julian refuses to help in his own defense.  Besides, if it ever comes out Michelle and Julian were lovers, it would utterly destroy her marriage as well as her reputation in ‘polite society’. But Michelle will not allow an innocent man to go to jail.

And so, she confesses to Lieutenant Det. Curtis (David Cryer) the only unknown fact about the case certain to exonerate Julian. Julian Kaye could not have killed Judy Rheiman because on the night in question he was miles away from Palm Springs, servicing Michelle in an all-night passionate rendezvous. To this, Michelle is willing to testify in a court of law. A short while later, Michelle sits across from Julian in the visitor’s gallery, staring with panged adoration through the glass separating them. She can never go back to her former life as the senator’s wife. The press has already begun to swirl around the scandal. And yet, somehow, none of it matters anymore. Julian, humbled by the strength of sentiment, as Michelle presses her hand against the glass, leans his forehead against it on the other side, yearning for the moment when they can be reunited on the outside with no secrets, lies or false pretenses left between them. 

American Gigolo is an intriguing deviation on the traditional thriller…with a little sex tossed in – very little. Paul Schrader’s slick direction simultaneously camouflages Richard Gere’s limited acting range and the fact the picture is more style than substance. Gere gets the lion’s share of intelligently written dialogue and does the least with it. Still, he evokes a sort of world-weary cynicism that carries Julian Kaye’s fate. However, Schrader’s premise for the frame-up is woefully thin to nonsensical. Rheiman is a jealous pervert. Okay. What is his motive for getting Julian Kaye off the meat market? Or reason for having Judy killed? Why would the affluent Rheiman agree to helping a lowlife like Leon get Julian off the market? Moments before his untimely death, Leon offers his enfeebled reasoning for wanting Julian out of the sex trade. Julian’s stature is cramping Leon’s style.  As Julian could not be bought, he needed to be destroyed. Again – weak - as Julian’s high-style clientele under Anne’s management are never in competition with Leon’s lowbrow kink.  

There are some competent and seasoned performers scattered throughout American Gigolo – but they are mostly in supporting roles: Hector Elizondo, Bill Duke, K Callan and Carole Cook. None ever go beyond the ‘hook and worm’ stage in Schrader’s fishing expedition into this netherworld of steamy sex. And the ‘murder mystery’ fast becomes a sideshow rather than the whole circus. Schrader delivers on atmosphere, moodily executed by cinematographer, John Bailey. But in the end, American Gigolo is rather clumsily assembled and a real mutt of a movie. It’s not about exploring L.A.’s underground sex trade. It’s not a thriller. It’s not a whodunit. It’s not even a romantic drama.  One infallible asset to reconsider: Gere’s ‘drop dead’ handsomeness. This holds up even when his performance does not. He is an elegant mannequin, beholding to a certain trademarked masculine ideal that, for the briefest wrinkle in time, became the rage to emulate in American pop culture.

American Gigolo arrives in 4K via Arrow Academy, in a director approved UHD transfer, mastered from original elements. This easily blows Paramount’s tired Blu-ray release out of the water. Where Paramount’s standard Blu was anemic in color density and contrast, this new 4K master explodes with a richness and vibrancy unseen since 1980. Paul Bailey’s cinematography is magnificently rendered. Flesh tones are beautiful. The subtleness in dimly lit scenes is contrasted with bright, sun-filtered moments that capture the exoticism of the California backdrop. Contrast is uniformly excellent. Black levels are deep and rich. Overall image clarity is startling. This is a grain-rich presentation. And a note here: 80’s movies are notorious in their overall amplification of film grain during optical printing. American Gigolo’s main titles are no exception. While the titles are sharp, the underlying images depicting Julian at work are soft, gritty and markedly less refined in overall color saturation. Once we get into the meat of the movie, everything snaps together. Grain appears natural, and, colors and clarity pop as they should.   

Arrow has given us 3 audio options: the original theatrical mono mix, a stereo re-mix and a 5.1 DTS. This was the only option on Paramount’s standard Blu-ray. Of the 3, the theatrical mono is remarkably solid and, ideally, the way American Gigolo was meant to be screened. The 2.0 stereo offers a bit more spatiality in composer, Giorgio Moroder’s underscore, but the 5.1 DTS oddly reduces the bass to a tinny echo. Arrow has really gone all out with the extras. Paramount provided none. So, Arrow has produced a series of new and independently conducted interviews with actors, Hector Elizondo and Bill Duke, editor Richard Halsey, camera operator, King Baggot and music supervisor, Dan Wilcox. There is also a rather fascinating featurette with Prof. Jennifer Clark who deconstructs the movie around its fashion-consciousness. Cumulatively, there is about 2 hours of noteworthy content here, for a movie rather undeserving of as much. Arrow has also shelled out for a fold-out poster, lobby cards, and a handsomely produced booklet with essays by Neil Sinyard and Bill Nichols, that also reproduces the content of the original press kit. Bottom line: while American Gigolo will never be considered as either high art or great picture-making, it remains an enduring relic from the 1980s. There’s just ‘something’ intangible here that continues to beckon us to wade through the mire, hoping for a story that never actually materializes as it should. Arrow’s 4K UHD Blu is definitely in a class apart, presenting a comprehensive package deal, surely never to disappoint. Very highly recommended!

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

3

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

5+