American Gigolo (4K UHD Review)

• Reviewed by: Stephen Bjork
• Review Date: Aug 05, 2024
• Format: 4K Ultra HD
• 

Director

Paul Schrader

Release Date(s)

1980 (June 18, 2024)

Studio(s)

Paramount Pictures (Arrow Video)

• Film/Program Grade: B-
• Video Grade: A-
• Audio Grade: B+
• Extras Grade: B+

Review

Paul Schrader’s American Gigolo was a substantial hit when it was released in 1980, turning Richard Gere into a major box office draw and helping to define the zeitgeist of Eighties cinema. Part of that is due to its undeniable sense of style, with glossy visuals and a driving electronic score that laid the template for later films like Flashdance. Yet the superficial glitz of American Gigolo resulted in mixed reviews, since some critics felt that its style was little more than a veneer that was disguising a hollow core at the center of the film. The irony is that they were arguably correct in that assessment, but for the wrong reasons. That’s because the hollow core to American Gigolo is quite intentional on Schrader’s part, as it’s a perfect representation of the interior life of its central character Julian Kay (Gere). Julian has built his entire life around playing roles, using superficial textures like fashion, music, and even language to represent himself as something that he isn’t. The trouble is that he’s so good at disguising himself that he’s lost sight of who he really is under all these masks. He’s played so many different roles that can’t even remember how to be himself.

American Gigolo wasn’t the first film of the Eighties to face accusations of being style over substance, and it wouldn’t be the last one, either. (In that respect, it even helped define the critical zeitgeist of the era.) While there’s an inherent problem with the notion that style over substance is necessarily a bad thing, accusations like this tend to misapprehend the nature of the films that they’re being directed against. In some instances, the style of a given film is its substance—form has become content, and the two have become inextricably intertwined. That was the case with Walter Hill’s sensational Streets of Fire in 1984, where music, cinematography, costuming, production design, and editing fused into a whole that can’t be broken back down into its constituent elements. In other instances like American Gigolo, however, the apparent style over substance serves a specific thematic purpose. Julian Kay’s whole life is style over substance, and the hollow core of the film represents the hollowness at the center of the man. It’s only once his masks have been stripped away from him that he’s forced to contemplate who he really may be.

Schrader’s script for American Gigolo opens by taking its time to establish Julian as a master of his own particular universe. He’s a male escort who works exclusively in the world of wealth and privilege, providing temporary companionship (and yes, sex) for affluent women. (While his past is a bit murky, he’s currently unwilling to service men.) He takes most of his clients from Anne (Nina van Pallandt), although he tries to maintain a degree of independence—or at least the illusion of it, anyway. That becomes an issue when he decides to help out his previous employer Leon (Bill Duke) and the assignment turns a bit sour. Worse, one of the clients ends up dead, and Julian finds himself a suspect in the murder, with Detective Joe Sunday (Héctor Elizondo) targeting him in the investigation. Julian’s world slowly starts to unravel, but he’s able to find solace in the arms of Michelle Stratton (Lauren Hutton), the wife of a state Senator, who is fascinated by what he does for a living. Yet even she may be inadvertently connected to what’s happening to Julian, and as his masks are stripped away, he’s forced to confront the reality of who he really is—and what he can be. American Gigolo also stars Frances Bergen, Carole Cook, Brian Davies, and Carole Bruce (yes, Mrs. Carlson herself).

When your whole life is based on illusion, it makes sense that your life’s story would be presented in illusionary fashion. Schrader chose to focus on the superficial details of Julian’s lifestyle, with the cinematography, editing, and music of American Gigolo following suit—no pun intended, since Giorgio Armani designed Julian’s wardrobe. Composer Giorgio Moroder provided a compelling rhythm for the film that harmonized with the editing, with the melody from Blondie’s title song Call Me forming its primary motif. All of that ends up being stripped away from Julian by the end of the film, with his wardrobe consisting of nothing more than a prison jumpsuit, and even the music has taken a darker turn. The masks are gone, and hollow core of both the film and the man are now fully exposed for all the world to see. Yet the superficiality of American Gigolo extends to its conclusion, offering a happy ending that feels as hollow as anything else in the film. To be fair, that was actually Schrader’s intent, since he modeled the scene after the finale of Robert Bresson’s Pickpocket. Yet that fact probably didn’t help the perception of the film with some critics. Just like Julian, Schrader may have done his job all too well, and American Gigolo may feel unsatisfying as a result. Of course, that’s the whole point of the film, but that’s why it remains as fascinating today as it was back in 1980. You just have to meet it on its own terms.

Cinematographer John Bailey shot American Gigolo on 35mm film using Panavision Panaflex cameras with spherical lenses, framed at 1.85:1 for its theatrical release. This version is based on a 4K scan of the original camera negative, with digital restoration and SDR/HDR grading performed at Dragon DI in Cardiff, Wales. (Both Dolby Vision and HDR10 are included on the disc). The grain is heavy at times during this presentation of American Gigolo, especially in the dupe elements that were used for the optically printed opening titles, but for the most part it’s even and the usual stellar encoding from David Mackenzie at Fidelity in Motion handles it perfectly. Fine detail isn’t quite at true 4K levels, but that’s the nature of the original cinematography (regardless of the resolving power of 35mm film, the results can still be limited by the stocks, lenses, and filters that were used). The colors are more intense here than on Blu-ray—not necessarily brighter, but there’s more depth to them. The blues in this case are deep, deep blues, and the other colors follow suit. The flesh tones can veer just a touch pinkish at times, especially on Richard Gere’s omnipresent face, but it’s nothing that seems too out of character for the film. This is definitely the best that American Gigolo has looked on home video.

Audio is offered in English 1.0 mono LPCM, 2.0 stereo, and 5.1 DTS-HD Master Audio, with optional English SDH subtitles. American Gigolo was released theatrically in mono, and the 1.0 track does appear to be the original mono mix. Both the 2.0 and the 5.1 retain the mono character of the dialogue and sound effects, with just a whiff of ambience being steered into the surrounds. The biggest difference lies in the music, and that’s no small thing with American Gigolo. Being able to hear the songs and Giorgio Moroder’s score in full stereo makes all the difference in the world, giving the film a propulsive drive that the mono mix just can’t match. Between the two options, the 2.0 track seems to have a bit more heft overall than the 5.1 does, but the choice is yours, and the mono track is still included if you insist on being faithful to the theatrical mix. But please don’t.

Arrow’s Limited Edition 4K Ultra HD release of American Gigolo is UHD only—there’s no Blu-ray offered in the package. The insert is reversible, featuring new artwork by Tommy Pocket on one side and the original theatrical poster artwork on the other. It includes a two-sided foldout poster featuring both sets of artwork and six art cards, as well as a 60-page booklet featuring essays by Neil Sinyard and Bill Nichols, plus pressbook materials. Everything is housed inside a slipcase/slipcover combo with the Tommy Pocket artwork. (There was an Arrow Store Exclusive version that used the theatrical poster artwork on the slipcase and slipcover, but that’s sold out at this point). The following extras are included:

• Audio Commentary by Adrian Martin
• Interviews:
  • Below the Surface (HD – 19:37)
  • Six Ways to Sunday (HD – 10:46)
  • The Business of Pleasure (HD – 15:26)
  • Montages and Monologues (HD – 7:15)
  • The Non-Conformist (HD – 25:05)
  • Man Machine (HD – 15:03)
  • American Icon (HD – 18:54)
• Trailer (Upscaled SD – 1:57)
• Image Galleries:
  • Stills (HD, 26 in all)
  • Posters and Press (HD, 8 in all)
  • Lobby Cards (HD, 8 in all)

All of the extras are new to this edition. The commentary track features author and critic Adrian Martin, whose experience with the film goes back to one of the earliest articles that he ever wrote. Don’t Let Them Be Misunderstood was a look at underappreciated films, and he freely admits that he still didn’t fully appreciate American Gigolo at that point, but he’s reassessed it since then. Martin brings these experiences to bear in analyzing American Gigolo for this track, noting how the way that Julian is always performing mirrors Schrader’s own embrace of style at that point in his career. Julian starts out as a superficial character who’s always wearing masks—everything is a game to him, at least at first—and that fit with Schrader’s fixation on the superficiality of life. That’s a theme that has been persistent throughout Schrader’s career, where he lets characters build fantasy worlds around themselves only to have it all come crashing down. Martin also examines the queer style in the film, and says that while critics like Robin Wood felt that it was homophobic, he disagrees with that assessment.

Aside from the trailer and Image Galleries, the rest of the extras consist of interviews. Below the Surface is with the man himself, Paul Schrader. He explains how he loves using his character’s occupations a metaphor for something else, rather than as and end unto themselves. American Gigolo was about Julian’s inability to express love, and his choice of profession provided and avenue to explore that concept. It’s a film about surface textures rather than about interior life, and Julian is really just a symbol of that. Schrader also spends some time discussing the making of American Gigolo and working with his various collaborators. He ultimately declares that the film caught the zeitgeist of the Eighties, for better or for worse.

The next few interviews are all with the cast and crew of American Gigolo. Six Ways to Sunday is with Héctor Elizondo, who rambles a bit about his background and training before offering his thoughts about Schrader, John Bailey, and Richard Gere. The Business of Pleasure is with Bill Duke, who explains how he got into acting and provides some insight into the characters of American Gigolo. There’s an appeal for him in playing characters that don’t quite fit in because he’s never felt like he quite fits in. Montages and Monologues is with editor Richard Halsey, who says that he prefers small low-budget character studies like this one, and describes how he overcame the potential pacing problems that the camera style used by Schrader and Bailey might have created. The Non-Conformist is with camera operator King Baggott, who describes his own cinematic lineage (including his father and grandfather) and his work on American Gigolo. He feels that framing is just as important and lighting, so he describes some of the complex shots that he devised for John Bailey.

The last two interviews provide an outsider’s perspective. Man Machine is with Dan Wilcox, who is both a music supervisor for KCRW radio in Los Angeles and also works as a DJ. He’s on hand to offer thoughts about the music in American Gigolo, and since he feels that the film helped to define the culture of the Eighties, it’s not surprising the Giorgio Moroder’s music helped to define Eighties scoring as well. Wilcox also discusses the choice of Blondie for the title song and Moroder’s somewhat uneasy collaboration with the band, as well as a few of the other songs in the film. Finally, American Icon is with Fordham University Professor Jennifer Clark, who examines how American Gigolo fit into the fashion landscape of its time. It ended up representing a pendulum swing between the malaise of the late Seventies and the Reagan era of the Eighties, demonstrating how global socioeconomic changes would end up affecting consumerism and fashion.

Despite the fact that all of these extras are new ones, there aren’t any extras missing from any previous versions of American Gigolo for the simple reason that none of Paramount’s own releases have offered a single extra other than the theatrical trailer—nothing else on LaserDisc, DVD, or Blu-ray. Considering that it’s had plenty of reissues over the decades, that’s actually kind of amazing. Yet it does indicate that the somewhat dismissive critical reaction to American Gigolo in 1980 extended to its own studio. Paramount took their money and ran, and they’ve never looked back a single time. Arrow has rectified that situation with a healthy slate of extras, a solid 4K presentation of the film, and potent audio as well. If you’ve been equally dismissive of American Gigolo, none of this may change your mind, but Arrow has made an excellent case that it’s a film worthy of rediscovery.

- Stephen Bjork

(You can follow Stephen on social media at these links: Twitter, Facebook, and Letterboxd).