American Gigolo (1980)

Written and directed by Paul Schrader

They say clothes make the man, but they unfortunately can’t make American Gigolo the suspenseful thriller it wants to be, try as they might. But damn if they ain’t an eyeful-and-a-half. 

Dressed exclusively in Armani, Richard Gere is Julian Kaye, a luxury sex worker who services only the rich and powerful. Business CEOs, senators’ wives, financier spouses, you name it. A stylish fantasy, his apartment features beautiful art and design, an open layout, and corner windows catching the sun at the perfect angle, filtering in through his blinds to suggest the secretive allure of his life. 

Around town he drives a sleek Mercedes convertible, and the cosmopolitan vibes are rounded out by his ability to speak a handful of languages plus “the universal one”. Where American Psycho would lambast the yuppie crowd’s vapid obsession with conformity to the idealized life, American Gigolo fetishizes the handiwork that represents it.  

As put-together the production design of American Gigolo is, Schrader’s movie struggles to not come apart at the seams, and at times it shows its ass. Schrader’s famous for writing headstrong men with misanthropic outlooks, and Julian’s no different, arrogant and dismissive. Schrader lays it on inelegantly with Julian preaching to anyone who’ll listen and it’s the mark of an overager writer whose character hasn’t achieved an inner life before he lets him loose on the world. 

The world comes after Julian, however. A client is found murdered, and he quickly becomes a suspect, as those who can provide him an alibi are hesitant to do so, since many of them shouldn’t have been in his company in the first place. Discretion cuts both ways. American Gigolo looks to be an paranoia thriller but Schrader doesn’t manage to build the suspense that ought to come with the tightening net arranging itself around Julian. When it ought to hit the gas, it coasts, making the sudden bursts of intensity all the more of a lurch. 

American Gigolo is defined by its rough edges. Looking back, it’s comforting to see how Schrader would grow as a filmmaker and writer, because the daring and talent is there. Crane shots that see you take in the entirety of Julian’s apartment in one go, or a tracking shot that follows him into the depths of a nightclub. It’s ambitious and history will bear Schrader out from a technical perspective. 

The writing lacks, however. The cast of characters around Julian, in particular the women, are non-elements, and it’s especially bleak in the case of Michelle, played by Laura Hutton, who is the Schraderian archetype of a woman offering salvation for our besieged leading man. She has no depth or motivation outside that granted to her by male wish fulfillment. Forget the male gaze, this is male projection. One can also accuse American Gigolo of homophobic attitudes, as it saves the gay lifestyle for its most morally void characters. It’s not Schrader at his most open-minded. 

Despite its gorgeous exterior, American Gigolo is a ragged affair, providing little to enjoy in terms of story and characters, remaining worthwhile only in the work done by its circumstantial craftspeople, and in how it offers a look at Schrader taking the first steps to becoming a more technically daring filmmaker.