By Robert Scucci
| Published
Whenever I think about movies associated with Martin Scorsese, I immediately think about mobsters and crimelords and nothing else, because that’s what he’s best known for. The first films that come to mind are Goodfellas, The Departed, and Bringing Out the Dead, all excellent movies worth their weight in critical acclaim. At 37 years old, though, I’m just now learning about a subgenre popularized in the 80s known as the Yuppie Nightmare Cycle, which mixes film noir motifs with elements of screwball comedy, as can be seen in 1985’s After Hours.
Written by Joseph Minion and directed by Scorsese, After Hours is my official introduction to the subgenre in my own headcanon, though I’m sure I’ve seen movies that fall into this wheelhouse before becoming familiar with the term. What can I say? I’m only human, I go on too many cinematic side quests, and as a result I have blind spots. You don’t know what you don’t know, but now that I do know, I need more of what films like After Hours have to offer because it contains just about everything I’m looking for in a movie.
A Fugue State Of Terrible Decisions
After Hours earns its keep by continually escalating its premise to increasingly absurd extremes. We’re introduced to Paul Hackett (Griffin Dunne), a white-collar word processor working in New York City. He’s conventionally handsome, professionally respected, has a nice apartment, and dresses well. Despite all of this, he lives alone and leads a seemingly hollow life.
While grabbing a bite at a café one night, Paul bonds over the book he’s reading, Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller, with Marcy Franklin (Rosanna Arquette). She briefly talks about herself and her roommate, Kiki (Linda Fiorentino), a sculptor whose claim to fame is making papier-mâché paperweights shaped like bagels. Feigning interest in these sculptures so he can go back to her place, presumably to hook up, Paul gets Marcy’s phone number and the address she shares with Kiki.
From this point forward in After Hours, Paul’s life takes a turn for the worse in increasingly ridiculous fashion. He loses the only $20 he has on him when his speed-demon taxi driver causes it to blow out the window. Kiki comes onto him after asking for help with a giant sculpture of a screaming man. Marcy grows more unstable the longer he’s around her. Paul leaves the apartment fully intending to go home, but his standard 9 to 5 existence hasn’t prepared him for the fact that subway fare jumps at midnight, and the pocket change he has on hand isn’t enough to cover it.
Far from home, broke, and stuck in the rain, Paul relies on the kindness of strangers to get back to his apartment. This proves to be a misguided approach because every step forward shoves him two steps back, and the people he runs into only make matters worse. Marcy commits suicide in his absence, and the owner of the bar where he seeks shelter, Tom (John Heard), who is her boyfriend, receives the phone call informing him of her death.
Paul, who previously exchanged his own apartment keys for Tom’s as a sign of good faith so he could grab money from the register to afford subway fare, is mistakenly identified as the burglar who’s been terrorizing the neighborhood. A mob forms with every intention of either turning him over to the authorities or killing him. It goes on like this for 90 relentless minutes, so I’ll spare you the granular details.
Can’t Live With ‘Em …
Throughout Paul’s journey in After Hours, he runs into woman after woman who make aggressive advances toward him, often emasculating him in the process, then spiraling when they realize he’s not interested and just wants to get home. From perfect stranger Marcy, to sculptor Kiki, to bartender Julie (Teri Garr), to Mr. Softee driver Gail (Catherine O’Hara), to June (Verna Bloom), who is also a sculptor, Paul keeps sprinting toward bad luck in the form of unwanted female companionship as if it were his true calling. The humor comes from the irony of it all, as Paul’s only reason for venturing out in the first place was to meet a woman with the hopes of taking her out on a date.
After Hours is equal parts neo-noir and slapstick comedy, and it’s impossible to watch without feeling absolutely exhausted on Paul’s behalf. Griffin Dunne’s facial expressions, spanning deadpan dread, astonishment, and pure bewilderment, make this an entertaining outing from start to finish because of how fully he commits to the premise. If you’re in the mood for the worst night out imaginable and want to experience it by laughing at someone else’s expense, you can stream After Hours on Netflix as of this writing.
