The Swimmer (US, 1968)

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Swimming to oblivion

This is an interesting ‘New Hollywood’ film where the French ‘new wave’ can be seen infiltrating the commercially desperate Hollywood. Though it was an independent production, Sam Spiegel was pretty much establishment Hollywood and Columbia Pictures distributed. Of course the presence of Burt Lancaster brings the Hollywood star system into play but the fact that Spiegel took his name off the film and had Sydney Pollack reshoot some scenes give an indication that this isn’t a product of the Dream Factory.

It was filmed in 1966 but took two years to be released and so predated both Bonnie and Clyde and The Graduate, key films in the emergence of Hollywood films that challenged the American consensus about their ‘Dream’. Lancaster plays Ned Merrill who, an a whim, decides to swim via his friends’ swimming pools back to his house several miles away. What starts as genial romp deteriorates as it becomes clear that all’s not well with Merrill.

Lancaster looks terrific, although clearly middle-aged he’s in trim particularly compared to the peers he meets on his journey. The hard-edged optimism of his persona is used to good effect and, as the day progresses, Lancaster conveys his mental deterioration with some brilliance. The time he spends with the teenager (Janet Landgard), who had a crush on him as a child, are superbly creepy.

An interesting piece describes Merrill’s decline as tragic. My reading was less charitable as his treatment of women was full of self-regard and his fall is entirely deserved. The shallowness of the bourgeoisie, flaunting their wealth, is well presented and some of the dialogue crackles (the script was by Eleanor Perry) and was no doubt drawn directly from the source material, John Cheever’s short story of the same name.

Director, husband of the scriptwriter, Frank went of to make Diary of a Mad Housewife (1970), which I remember enjoying a long time ago. The ‘new wave’ influence I mentioned above refers primarily to the occasional non-conventional use of film form rather than specific aspects. For example, the editing, particularly when Merrill’s on the move, sometimes uses very rapid montages to convey the dynamic movement. There is one very striking zoom into an extreme close-up of Merrill’s eye. It wouldn’t be mistaken for a classical Hollywood film.

The only other film I’m familiar with that Perry directed was the Joan Crawford ‘hit piece’ Mommie Dearest (1980). Would be good to see the Diary of a Mad Housewife again.

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