Famous writer-director Paul Schrader’s American Gigolo is a classic defining gem of 1980s and ’90s crime thrillers, albeit sludgy and dampened by its flattened lead. The film follows high-end male escort/international translator Julian Kay (Richard Gere), who boyishly slides into wealth, status, and esteemed country clubs by conducting business with primarily old, rich white women. On one of his many bosses’ requests, he ends up in a bar where he meets Michelle Stratton (Lauren Hutton), a local senator’s wife, with whom he gets entangled in a complex behind-closed-doors relationship. Simultaneously, however, he gets framed for the murder of a woman whom he got assigned to sexually roughhouse only hours before, arousing cops to watch him wherever he goes. Because of his mostly snarky and privileged tone towards his bosses in times past, Kay must work with his few now dwindling resources, police who pin him as suspect #1, and Stratton to clear his name and ensure his newfound relationship succeeds.

People want love. They want love and to be loved. No matter your background or beliefs, lacking love leaves life cruel and lonely. Without love and the people around us to love, arguably, we are nothing. While disguised in a chic, chiseled masculine toughness, American Gigolo demonstrates why love is vital. Kay’s escorting work is not just for connections or money but for the meaning behind the pleasure he gives to others. He primarily goes after lonely older women, doing anything from going to the mall and shit-talking store workers to inducing first years-long climaxes: “The other night…, I was with a woman. Somebody’s mother. Her husband didn’t care about her anymore. This woman hadn’t had an orgasm in maybe ten years…. When it was over, I felt like I’d done something, something worthwhile. Who else would’ve taken the time or cared enough to do it right?” This “something worthwhile” was care, attention, and at least performed love, not just meaningless sex. Kay’s caring acts reflect love’s universalizability and demonstrate the morosity of women’s roles in heteronormative spaces: they are to be desirable, raise children, and get discarded in old age.

In reaction and after years of such work, Kay himself became resistant to sexual pleasures and thus even more so to love and connection with others. Viewers never see him escalate beyond basic physical sensations with his female subjects, and he rejects male ones outright; men are strongly avoided, and women are hardly gazed at. This visual avoidance represents Kay’s emotional disconnect, as he has to put all his energy into his work. Stratton shows him what love and genuine care feel like. Whether it’s a genuine conversation or a gentle face rub, Kay is drawn in by Stratton’s affectionate availability – despite its logistical complications. As the framing heats up and Kay discovers the consequences of his resistantly arrogant business attitude, he also learns of love’s other pros, such as companionship and reliability. The pair’s intimacy is thus the only form shown, as it’s the only time intimacy matters to Kay. American Gigolo represents these densely interwoven themes through Kay’s exploration of work and affection, private and public, and the nuances of relationships built in the illegal high-end escorting business.

Gigolo does have its disruptive shortages as well. Gere, though boyishly charming and good-looking, is a flat lead. The mostly needle-sharp writing, compelling score, mesmerizing color schemes, LA world-building, and general direction help fizzle him out, but it feels like Gere is more focused on looks than lines throughout. He’s always stone-faced, one-toned, and dulled when he should be emotionally restrained. One gets the impression the character is disconcertingly more complicated than Gere can translate. It’s also 25 minutes too slow, which shows painfully. Nevertheless, Gigolo is an engaging crime thriller that provides more substance than assumable, making this a good dose of intelligent fun for those willing to find it in cinema’s more vulgar corners.

Screens Monday, 7/15, 7:30 pm @ Somerville Theatre
Part of the ongoing repertory series: Hot Summer Nights