We Must Discuss The Icky ‘80s Sensuality Of ‘American Gigolo’

Today is Richard Gere‘s birthday: the perfect day to reminisce about his breakout role in American Gigolo, the crime drama that established the actor as a Hollywood leading man. The film feels like it single-handedly ushered in a new era of American culture; released in 1980, American Gigolo almost encapsulates the entire decade with its style, tone, and musical score.

Written and directed by Paul Schrader, featuring music written by Giorgio Moroder, and starring Gere, American Gigolo feels like a relic of a lost time, particularly when you consider what those three men — all of whom were at their prime in 1980 — stand today. Schrader’s most recent film was The Canyons, a Bret Easton Ellis-penned film that relied on two casting gimmicks — Lindsay Lohan and real-life porn star James Deen — to tell a muddled pulpy story about Hollywood. Moroder, responsible for Donna Summer’s most explosive singles and for bringing the sounds of Italian disco to America, released his first album in thirty decades this year, which was met with tepid reviews. And Richard Gere… Well, he’s not exactly the sex symbol he used to be.

But American Gigolo features Richard Gere at his peak. Playing Julian Kaye, Gere is incredibly sexy, boasting tailored Giorgio Armani suits and the kind of bachelor pad that Patrick Bateman would kill for (that is, if he ever considered a move to LA). He even goes full-frontal, a move that no major Hollywood actor had pulled before then (Christopher Reeve and John Travolta, by the way, both turned down the part). Julian lives a seemingly aspirational life as a male escort — there’s something about the taboo profession that comes across as desirable here, the notion that Julian makes money to “give pleasure to women,” as he says. (Somehow Gere makes that sound less gross than it feels for me to type it.) That all comes crumbling down when he’s framed for the murder of a financier’s wife, days after he takes a quickie gig to sleep with her in front of her husband at his request — and to play rough with her for her husband’s sexual kicks.

Does American Gigolo have something prophetic to say about sex work, considering we discuss it much differently than we did 35 years ago considering Amnesty International’s recent move to push for international decriminalization of it? Perhaps. On the surface, of course, Julian’s life seems fun and fancy free. When he gets into trouble, however, even his most satisfied clients want nothing to do with him, which only proves that to be a sex worker is to be disposable and to fall victim once even their clients’ puritanism breaks the surface.

But you don’t want to hear about that, do you? Nah. Do you want to examine the Richard Gere’s peak sexiness in what could possibly be the most ’80s workout montage ever put on film? Sure.

Remember when we all worked out upside down? Yeah, me neither — I was born in 1983 — but I do remember the short-shorts.

The truly bizarre thing about American Gigolo isn’t the problematic treatment of sex work (or the underlying homophobia, with Julian repeatedly refusing to do “fag jobs” and that the true killer is a gay hustler who’s trying to pin it on the pretty, straight male prostitute). It’s the super, duper icky sensuality that’s constantly at play, which I think is supposed to be groovy and sexy but instead comes across as really uncomfy, something as creepy as hearing one of your parents refer to “making love.”

The romantic plot of American Gigolo involves Julian’s affair with the wife of a rising politician, a woman named Michelle Stratton (played by a mysterious un-gapped-toothed Lauren Hutton). In a surprising twist on the old hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold cliché, it’s Julian who proves he’s more than just a lover for pay, and he and Michelle fall for each other (and Michelle ultimately gives him an alibi to avoid getting successfully framed for murder). But amid all of that stuff, which is totally fine and believable as far as movie plots go, there’s the super stylized sex scenes between them, which feel so dated and weird and, ugh, I feel like a grandma talking about how pornography is bad, and I would stand for that if only there were anything actually titillating about what I’m about to show you in the form of GIFs (because kids love GIFs).

Like, what?

Why.

Are French Tips sexy?

How about dead eyes and light strangulation?

I have seen a lot of weird sex scenes in movies before, some laughably bad and some extremely uncomfortable. But the inherent unsexiness of American Gigolo‘s sexiness was too much to take. Will the movie’s theme song, Blondie’s “Call Me,” forever be a triggering pop culture artifact that instantly sparks images of a lilac backdrop behind Lauren Hutton’s wispy bangs just before she climaxes as Richard Gere’s thumbs gently massage her clavicle? Probably. And it certainly prevents me from being able to contextualize it into any concrete ways. My apologies, but once you see Richard Gere’s butt get a romantic little peck on the cheek, all bets are off.

But to leave you with some form of thoughtful parsing, it’s easy to make a parallel between the careers of those involved in American Gigolo and the career of its titular hustler. Sex work turns the physical into a commodity, a political object. The same happens with those who work in the more legitimate entertainment business. It’s much worse for women, of course, as their standards of physical perfection are much greater (and, honestly, much less attainable and maintainable). American Gigolo, as uneasily as its aged, depicts the same thing but for a man who is thrown away when he’s no longer of use to anyone. It’s a stretch to compare Schrader, Moroder, or Gere to Julian considering his much worse fate, but the fickle nature of creative pursuits provide a much-needed space for artistic reassessment as audiences and their cultural appreciations change.

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GIFs: Paramount Pictures