The Swimmer (1968)

The Swimmer is a 1968 film starring Burt Lancaster and directed by Frank Perry. Wikipedia also credits Sydney Pollack as directing some uncredited scenes (?) The Swimmer, based on a John Cheever short story, follows the exploits of one Ned Merrill, a handsome, slightly psychotic, former "Man in a Grey Suit," as he tries to swim a chain of neighborhood pools all the way home. Along the way Ned meets a variety of East Egg-like characters, pompous drunks, amorous housewives, and somewhat disturbingly, several children, whom he manages to coerce into joining his journey. Eventually, we discover Ned is having like the ultimate mid-life crisis, unable to deal with the loss of his wife, home, daughters, mistress, and job (which, oddly, none of his friends seem to really know about?), descending into saccharine nostalgia and a dangerous fascination with pools.

As one might expect from the previous synopsis, The Swimmer is a serious odd-duck of a film. Feeling a bit like The Ice Storm if directed by Alejandro Jodorowsky, The Swimmer alternates between oddly mystical pseudo-fantasy sequences and the shrewd examination of the vacuous East Coast suburbanites one might expect to find in a Cheever-derived work. The Swimmer, like so many films run through the Hollywood gauntlet, feels like a potentially interesting concept butchered and perverted by a litany of re-writes, re-edits, and re-imaginings. The film feels pieced together, as if each section or scene is directed (or even written) by a different person (which, given Pollack's supposed involvement, is at least partially true).

The one saving grave is an interesting performance by Lancaster, who supplies the right mixture of wide-eyed innocence and casual arrogance to make Merrill seem alternately endearing and pathetic, also delusional. Janice Rule is excellent as Shirley Abbott, an actress with whom Merrill has had an affair. The scene where Merrill arrives at Abbott's pool is the strongest in the film and feels as if it was written and directed by a completely different creative team. Joan Rivers makes an odd cameo as a needy socialite who nearly accompanies Merrill on his Quixotic journey before being warned off.

Apparently, The Swimmer has become a minor cult classic, being re-released by Sylvester Stallone's now dead son (?), which, I suppose, owes to its unceasing oddness. The Swimmer is indeed odd and, oddly, watchable, if only to see what strange thing will occur next. A film that, if I had the choice, I would probably un-watch, if only to re-possess that hour and forty five minutes used up. However, it is a film that encourages watching, as Lancaster's strange, yet strong performance propels the narrative through its various bizarre twists and turns.