Switching gears: here's a big reco for
The Swimmer (Frank Perry, 1968).
This is a great, very odd piece of work. I'm lazy, so here's something I wrote about it a couple of years ago:
At a pool party in beautiful, upperscale Connecticut, Ned Merrill (an aging, swimsuit-clad Burt Lancaster) sets out to "swim his way home" by using the pools of his neighbors, thus working his way through the county back home to his house and family. As he moves on, pool by pool, we gradually learn of his past, present and future - and all is not well. Odd and daring in both premise and execution,
The Swimmer features an impressive performance by Lancaster, and the film is in perfect tune with his shifting mood and gradual disorientation of the world around him. At first I thought that Merrill's persona combined with the superman physique (for a middle-aged man) was a bit narcissistic and self-indulgent, but it makes sense, as the reason for focusing on his body becomes increasingly ambivalent and revealing; in the end, Merrill has nowhere to hide.
This is essential viewing, but also a painful experience - watching Lancaster emotionally deteriorate as he progresses through the lush garden parties and expensive pools is tough; little is given back to him in terms of sympathy or triumph. However, for the viewer
The Swimmer is rewarding, and should be sought out by anyone interested in existential, allegorical dramas dealing with the journey inwards (with some excellent camerawork and posh locations to boot). An uncredited Sydney Pollack directed one of the best segments of the film, when Lancaster confronts an old mistress.
