Saint Jack

In light of the passing of Peter Bogdanovich last Thursday, this review has been moved up.  The director, who not only contributed some excellent movies but also countless interviews with Hollywood greats (and had a role on The Sopranos), was 82.

If I hadn't already seen and been enamored with Ben Gazzara's other work, 1979's SAINT JACK would've made me an instant fan.  But in some ways, it's like falling in love all over again.  Rare is the performance that is so natural, so comfortably inhabited.  Not an ounce of self consciousness.  Total confidence.  Found rhythms.  No nervous energy or impatience.  Gazzara flits around with the grace of a stealth jungle cat and charms just about about everyone in his path.  Everybody knows him.  He has a kind word for each of them.  Jack Flowers is the kind of guy who will buy you a drink within ten seconds of your introduction.  He may only spend a moment with you but somehow you feel as if he's fully engaged, wholly attentive.

Director/co-writer/co-star Peter Bogdanovich really scores with this adaptation of Paul Theroux's same titled 1973 novel.  He achieves an ingratiating character study from start to finish, though the second hour does get a bit more involved with plotting.  This never bogs down the relaxed vibe SAINT JACK possesses.  Jack, often with a cigar in his maw, is seen making tourist and local alike feel comfortable in the colorful streets of Singapore.  It's the early 1970s.  We learn that Jack left the States after returning from the Korean War and found his way to this Asian paradise, a place described by one character as somewhere having the exoticism of the East, but with the comforts of the West.  Jack, you would say, is a pimp, leading men to the endless stream of lovely ladies out and about.  One client wants to watch them dance naked to Shirley Bassey's "Goldfinger."

At times, Flowers owns his bordellos, other times he just acts like he does.  He occasionally runs afoul of competitors and the local mafia, who brandish long knives.  After being tortured by them one awful night, he has a tattoo artist cover his burned arms.   Later, the CIA has him run a brothel for U.S. soldiers looking for relief from Vietnam.  Sometimes, the boys get too rowdy and even violent.

SAINT JACK gives prominent attention to a chap named William Leigh (a wonderful Denholm Elliott), an English auditor from Hong Kong who visits Singapore yearly.  He's not there for a lady of the evening, but rather simply to enjoy the sights and Jack's friendship.  Their relationship might be the heart of the picture.  Then there's the mysterious, apparently well connected American named Eddie Schulman (intriguingly played by Bogdanovich).  He also makes several return trips, frequently armed with the kind of stoagies you can't get in the U.S., and offers Jack a big payday for some dirty business.  Enough for our resident hustler to maybe end the far East fantasy and return home.

SAINT JACK was warmly received by critics, far more so than Bogdanovich's expensive period pieces of the mid '70s.  It was a return to more soulful filmmaking, the sort that may meander but never bore.  I was consistently engrossed with this movie, and honestly, I could watch Gazzara walk through lobbies and smooth talk his brothers and sisters for hours.