The Swimmer

What an odd little movie The Swimmer is. Ned Merrill (Burt Lancaster) decides one sunny Connecticut late 60s day to "swim" home to his mansion on the hill by way of every pool along a route he's concocted in his neighborhood. At each stop he encounters someone from his past or present, and the story of his success and failure begins to unfold. This premise is super cool and interesting, and I'm curious to see how the John Cheever short story that it's based on handles the tale. What bogs the film down are those 60s random shots, like the super slow motion sequences, the odd closeups and blends and fades, the tricks of shooting in and out of focus shots of trees while dialogue plays over. Enough of that crap. It dates and scars the film, sadly. But towards the end this crap goes away, and we're left with beautiful dramatic moments of tension between Ned and the people he meets. The scene with him and the lonely little boy in the empty pool is heartbreaking (albeit schmaltzy) and his reunion with former love Shirley is agonizingly intense. His last foray through the public pool is humiliating, but doesn't even compare to what he runs into once he makes it home. I'd love to see a remake of this film; I picture George Clooney in the part (he has the Caesar haircut!), although who can replace Lancaster, with his aging, leathery, sunspotted flesh in that tight little pair of swim trunks. Fun to see Joan Rivers as a pool party guest, but all the other players were utterly unremarkable. The Swimmer made me want to swim, read the story, and then do a remake. Not necessarily in that order.

OH MY GOD. They ARE remaking it! But...Alec Baldwin? Sigh. There goes my big Hollywood idea.