Movies To See Before You Die: “American Gigolo”
Richard Gere as Julian in Paul Schrader’s American Gigolo (1980).
The realm of sex in the movies has often been avoided by Hollywood, but Paul Schrader‘s masterpiece American Gigolo (1980) stands out as a film that tackles the topic of sexuality with formal beauty and grace. Following Julian (Richard Gere), a high-priced male prostitute, American Gigolo is a film about more than just the surface appearances that much of Julian’s line of work revolves around. At its heart, Schrader’s film is a revelatory tale of love and loneliness within a profession that is usually not associated with either sensation. Currently, American Gigolo is globally ranked at 3,205 by the users of Flickchart, a ranking that reflects much of the general consensus around this under-appreciated film. Though the film is not highly revered, it is due for reevaluation as American Gigolo‘s pop-exterior strengthens its raw interior, its depiction of sex and gender places “the male gaze” under scrutiny, and the films that it pulls inspiration from elevate it artistically.
Opening on Julian behind the wheel of a Mercedez-Benz convertible with Blondie’s “Call Me” playing non-diegetically over the scene, American Gigolo is setting up an image that will eventually be shattered. Presented as glamorous and ideal, Julian’s appearance is simply a facade that the audience will have to look past as the film progresses. His wealth and the perks of his job are put on display in the first few scenes as he’s fitted for a new Giorgio Armani suit – presumably being purchased for him by one of his clients, which are generally older women. Only furthering his image of wealth and beauty is his body. Coming out of the Rocky (1976) fitness craze, Julian has an elaborate workout routine that involves him hanging by his ankles from a bar along the ceiling while lifting weights. Naturally, while doing this particular workout, he’s brushing up on his Swedish. All of these elements combined make him appear to be the epitome of the American dream.
However, much of the drama in American Gigolo comes from the duality of Julian’s work life and his personal life. Seemingly, he has no real friends, romantic relationships, and even his work relationship with his pimp (a middle-aged woman) is fractured. Everything that he does revolves around his work as a male escort. His inner loneliness is palpable, and sex is not even physically gratifying for him anymore. Upon meeting a woman that he is actually attracted to, a married woman named Michelle (Lauren Hutton), he refuses to take her as a client – even though she is practically begging for him to take her money. Stylistically, the electronic score by Giorgio Moroder riffs on “Call Me”, echoing its tune while translating the darker themes of the film. That Moroder’s score is electronic captures the pop sensibility of the film, but the lone synth notes that make up much of the original soundtrack says a great deal of Julian as a character. For a film with such a vibrant introduction and environment, American Gigolo intentionally unravels as it becomes a murder-mystery. Blurring the lines of genre, the film takes on a variety of guises that play into the dual-nature of its protagonist. The moment that something seems true, the film takes that truth away from the audience.
Julian working out.
Furthering the dual-nature of American Gigolo is Schrader’s depiction of men. Yes, Julian is a male prostitute, but that’s what makes much of American Gigolo an even more enigmatic film. In Laura Mulvey’s 1975 essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema”, she outlines the mechanisms that comprise “the gaze” (specifically “the male gaze”), writing:
“[Howard Hawks‘ 1944 film To Have and Have Not] opens with the woman as object of the combined gaze of the spectator and all the male protagonists in the film. She is isolated, on display, sexualized. But as the narrative progresses, she falls in love with the main male protagonist and becomes his property, losing her outward glamorous characteristics, her generalized sexuality, her showgirl connotations.”
Essentially, what Mulvey has described happens with a gender reversal in American Gigolo. Julian is lonesome, his physical appearance places him socially on display everywhere he goes, and he is sexualized as a man. As a romantic relationship begins to form between Julian and Michelle, Julian becomes Michelle’s property and he loses much of his sexuality and glamour. One of the more frivolous reasons that American Gigolo has remained relevant is that it’s the first studio film to feature full-frontal male nudity. There are no other characters in the film (male or female) who are ever as exposed as Julian is after his second sexual encounter with Michelle. Like a Renaissance sculpture, Julian stands by the window with his body fully exposed. Though he is shown naked outside of the context of a sex scene, Michelle is watching him while covered by the sheets in bed. In that scene, “the gaze” that Mulvey described in her essay has officially shifted to conform to a female perspective, placing the spectator in Michelle’s shoes as Julian is officially the object of desire.
Godard’s Une femme mariée is visually referenced in American Gigolo.
Beyond the unique defiance of audience expectation and the depiction of gender and sex in American Gigolo, Paul Schrader elevates the film artistically by alluding to other films. Prior to seeing Julian fully exposed by the window is a very artful sex scene that doesn’t show simulated sex but implies it. Showing the bedsheets in close-up, Schrader has Michelle’s legs enter the frame. In the next shot, we see the bedsheets again, and Julian’s hand slides into the frame and then stops. These moments are essentially still-life compositions of non-sexual parts of the body, but sexuality is evoked because of the bedsheets and the presence of male features and female features. Jean-Luc Godard staged several sex scenes in his film Une femme mariée (1964) in the exact same way. By implementing that particular approach to the scene, the act of sex is not graphic and gains a delicate quality as each moment seems to be highlighted.
Another scene of interest involves a job that Julian fills in for at the last minute for a “friend” that involves a husband who has hired Julian so that he can watch him have sex with his wife. As Julian begins undressing, the husband begins barking out orders – one of which is, “slap her.” It is implied that Julian will slap her, but the scene ends as he stares at the husband with a look that says he is unsure that he wants to. Though it is not a direct reference, Luis Buñuel‘s film about a female prostitute, Belle de jour (1967), uses a similar narrative technique by placing the character in an uncomfortable situation and then cutting away. This technique makes what is not seen on screen just as powerful as what is seen on screen as it leaves a lot up to the audience. In American Gigolo, that we do not see him slap the wife will eventually play into the murder-mystery aspect of the film as Julian is framed for her murder.
On the other end of the spectrum of critical praise and consensus is John Schlesinger‘s Oscar winning film Midnight Cowboy (1969) – which currently holds a Flickchart global ranking of 329. Like American Gigolo, Midnight Cowboy follows a male prostitute named Joe Buck (Jon Voight) who also gravitates toward older women. Unlike Julian, Joe Buck pursues older women because of an Oedipus complex that is revealed through flashbacks, whereas Julian insists that he pursues older women because it’s more rewarding (like he’s doing them a great service). More prominently connecting Midnight Cowboy to American Gigolo is the concept of the American dream. Joe Buck leaves his home in Texas to pursue the American dream in New York City where he’s heard that the women are ravenous. Though Joe Buck is completely unsuccessful in his venture to support himself financially as a prostitute (especially compared to Julian), he has everything emotionally that Julian does not. Joe Buck has a friend in Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman), he has a history that has informed who he is, and he has a heart for others. Julian’s character arc eventually forces him to have some of those qualities, but the degree of success that Julian has had in his pursuit of the American dream has given him a sense of privilege.
Beyond being a film that encapsulates much of the pop world surrounding its release (both visually and aurally), it is a film that can be taken seriously now that the ‘80s are in the past. Defying the constructs of genre and the idea of “the male gaze”, American Gigolo is a film that is smarter than its surface may lead one to believe. Cracking through the film’s energetic appearance can be a challenge, but there’s certainly more than meets the eye in relation to this wonderful film.
