Martin Scorsese, 1985, USA, 97 mins
Cast: Griffin Dunne, Rosanna Arquette, Verna Bloom
Review by Justin Whitton
Paul Hackett (Griffin Dunne) is a distinctly unlikely candidate to be the protagonist in this gritty thriller. He’s a rather nerdish-looking guy who seems to have very little in his life outside of his excruciatingly boring office job. It’s certainly easy to understand why Paul thinks his luck is in big time when he meets an attractive blonde, Marcy (Rosanna Arquette), in a diner. Before he really knows what’s going on, he’s in a taxi heading over to Marcy’s apartment in a seedy part of New York City. Paul anticipates an evening of passion and romance. Instead, he has taken the first step into an urban nightmare from which it becomes more and more difficult to escape.
The premise of After Hours – an ordinary guy unwittingly caught up in bizarre circumstances – is straight out of a Coen Brothers film. Indeed, this picture has the look and feel of something Joel and Ethan might well have concocted early in their career. It’s something of a surprise to discover that this is a Scorsese film. In fact, a (then) little-known director called Tim Burton was set to make the picture and it was only when funding issues delayed Scorsese’s long-planned epic about Jesus Christ that he was able to step in.
By the mid-1980s (After Hours was released in 1985), Scorsese’s career had rather stumbled. His only project after the success of Raging Bull, the brilliant but dark The Kingof Comedy, was a critical and box office disappointment. Questions were being asked about his ability to helm big projects. AfterH ours was a small film, made on a small scale, and its modest success was a key moment in Scorsese’s career. He re-established his commercial touch with The Colourof Money, which allowed him to finally film The Last Temptation of Christ, and then to end a difficult decade on a high note with Goodfellas. Had Scorsese failed with After Hours, the future may well have been very different.
There’s a wonderfully dark, malevolent look and feel to After Hours. Despite the limited budget (estimated at $4.5 million), Scorsese was able to employ some outstanding technical experts. I particularly like the many shots through windows and doors that Scorsese and cinematographer Michael Ballhaus (who would go on to photograph several of Scorsese’s subsequent films) come up with. They convey the impression that Paul is trapped, caged almost, like some helpless creature in a dangerous jungle. The clever editing (by Scorsese’s longtime collaborator Thelma Schoonmaker) relies on short takes and regular changes in perspective to heighten the sense of unease that Paul, and eventually the viewer, feels. After Hours may not have the epic scale of some of Scorsese’s better-known pictures, but this is an extremely well-constructed piece.
Around Dunne (an interesting choice in the leading role, who has done little of consequence in front of the camera since), Scorsese gathered an excellent supporting cast. His choices for the key female roles are especially impressive; Arquette, Linda Fiorentino (as Marcy’s strange but sexy artist flatmate, Kiki), Verna Bloom (as June, a reclusive old woman who tries to help Paul) and Teri Garr (playing Julie, a somewhat neurotic blonde) all offer fine performances.
After Hours is certainly not the best film Scorsese has ever made, and even today, relatively few people have seen it. But for those who associate this great director only with elaborate, somewhat overblown films, this film may be a pleasant surprise. At the very least, it’s a tense viewing experience.
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