“It used to be beautiful – what with the rackets, whoring, guns”

The mere mention of the name Atlantic City should evoke some kind of reaction in the listener – a town (or rather, gambling resort) known for its gambling, free-spirited activities and lack of morality, it has been the origin of many dreams being achieved, and the end of even more. As the quote about demonstrates, it’s a place with a storied history, one that has encountered many peculiar individuals over the course of its existence, which is precisely what Louis Malle seemed to be intent on exploring in his masterful film Atlantic City, an enthralling urban odyssey that ventures deep into the clutches of the titular location, presenting audiences with a riveting, and often extraordinarily heartbreaking, portrait of a time and place untouched by history, but manipulated by the march of time and the growing greed of the human race, which transformed it from a city known for being the home of entertainment and luxury that was a coveted destination for legions of people, into one rife with crime and debauchery, which serves the basis for Malle’s disquieting journey into the heart of one of the most notorious locations in the USA, exposing the underlying malice alongside the more oblivious pleasures, and creating an unflinching, beautifully poetic tapestry of a group of individuals who are all searching for some elusive sense of accomplishment – it could be simply the feeling of achieving the feat of living another day, or be as grandiose as flirting with the American Dream – but all find themselves in the same despair-filled recesses, from which there seems to be no escape. Yet, they persist and do their best to endure the challenges presented to them – it’s all a part of becoming enveloped by the enticing world of Atlantic City, and the peculiar people who populate it.

Malle’s style has always been difficult to pin down, especially considering he found great success on both sides of the Atlantic. This film in particular is almost unclassifiable – combining elements of romantic drama, film noir and psychological thriller, it is nearly impossible to find the director operating on one particular style. Instead, he crafts Atlantic City as a daring humanistic odyssey, a bold and intrepid exploration of the lives of a close-knit group of individuals who start as near-strangers, and end up knowing each other exceptionally well, almost to the point of outright fatality, inserting themselves into various situations that could not be predicted, either as a matter of necessity, or simply based on the fact that they now have the possibility to improve their lives. We watch as people are woven into the narrative, some of them appearing to be major figures, but are subsequently forced into a premature exit, while side-characters emerge from the shadows and become pivotal to the story in ways no one could have imagined at the outset. In terms of both its premise and the manner in which the director puts it on screen, Atlantic City is an incredibly surprising film, which should have been very clear, considering the artist that was at the helm. Malle’s work is always dignified and complex, but never pretentious – despite working during the period, he always appeared to be concurrent to the French New Wave, rather than one of its creative forces, which allowed him freedom to break convention and go his own direction. This persisted late into his career, as evident with the work he is doing in Atlantic City, which has such a distinct set of ideas which seem so peculiar in comparison to many other similarly-themed films from its era, yet still manages to be as profoundly moving (and often far more evocative) than the plethora of other films centred on a very specific concept.

This theme is one that is quite common, but no less intimidating – Atlantic City is a film about America. There are many thinkpieces throughout the last century about critics and audiences looking for the work that can be considered the “great American novel”, with an offshoot of discussions focusing on finding the best film that encapsulates everything about America. Arguably, Atlantic City is an odd candidate – it is a French-Canadian co-production with a cast plucked from many parts of the world, particularly the nation’s northern neighbour. However, many of the issues that it looks into, and the frank and unflinching discussions it has, are representative of some keen conversations being had at that time in the country, and which continues to persist to this very day. Amongst the myriad of themes that Malle touches on in this film are the superficial concepts, such as those mentioned in the quote at the outset of this review – crime, prostitution, gambling and all other impurities that afflicted this city. However, what makes Atlantic City so incredibly compelling is the director’s ability to venture even further into the premise and find the more human side of the story. Ageing, loneliness and a range of other meaningful concepts are explored thoroughly, with Malle’s unflinching style paying tribute to the ordinary people who find themselves becoming a part of the proverbial machine of capitalism, which allows this film to centre on some flawed individuals in a way that doesn’t excuse their misdeeds, but also doesn’t define them by their imperfections, instead humanizing them in a very real way. There’s a distinct sense of hopeless melancholy that pervades over the film and makes it so captivating – and when taken alongside the fascinating portrait of a notorious location, we’re given a vivid representation of one of the last strongholds of a particular era in American history, and one willing to have some stark conversations

In having these conversations, Malle once again demonstrates his incredible ability to bring out the best in his actors. However, when you have two of the most interesting performers of their generation giving some of their defining work, it’s tough to determine who is entirely responsible for the incredible quality being seen on screen. Susan Sarandon, at this point still a very young and promising actress who had yet to properly break into the mainstream, was now finally given the chance to emerge as the incredible talent she was. Playing the role of Sally, Sarandon is staggering – she is absolutely heartbreaking as the small-town girl who is trying to work her way out of her position, setting her sights on the luxuries of Monte Carlo, causing her to consistently be in a state of delusion, oblivious to the grim reality around her – perhaps her constant dreaming is deliberate, as a means of keeping the truth at bay. Doe-eyed, but with an incredible depth, Sarandon announces herself as a singular talent, and manages to go toe-to-toe with the true star of Atlantic City, an actor who was now entering into the final stages of his iconic career, and who quite obviously steals this entire film away from every one of his co-stars. Burt Lancaster was a legend of the acting profession, and an actor who never failed to capitalize on any of the material given to him. Lou is one of his most compelling characters – at the start of the film, he is a humble older gentleman who is nostalgic for his heyday, but as the film goes on (and he finds himself becoming more involved in criminal activity, other than the illegal numbers game he runs), he gradually starts to grow in confidence, believing himself to be some intimidating underworld figure, rather than an old man with hopeless delusions. Lancaster is simply pitch-perfect in the role, finding the pathos in a character that often doesn’t warrant any of it. His ability to humanize even the most flawed of characters was simply one of the many reasons he was amongst the most astounding actors of his generation, and someone who could navigate treacherous narrative territory, emerging with a resoundingly truthful version of a character we cannot help but become hopelessly attached to, in spite of his many imperfections.

The performances given by Lancaster and Sarandon speak to a much wider principle that Malle is exploring in Atlantic City. This isn’t a film that is necessarily weighed down by its minutiae, but so much context resides in the details, the small, character-driven moments that provide context to a broader portrait of a very distinct time and place. The director finds the right balance between capturing the spirit of Atlantic City, and exploring the individual stories that define it, and in the process ultimately manages to cultivate a rousing story of two wayward individuals finding each other, and working their way possibly out of what is normally seen as a city of luxury and freedom, but actually seems to be restricted by an unsaid policy that keeps ordinary people under its control. Atlantic City is a film about humanity, siphoned into a small but unforgettable story of defying the odds and working towards some sense of achievement, even if it is fruitless. John Guare’s screenplay manages to capture the underlying cultural discomfort evoked by the story, with so much nuance contained in dialogue that would often be cited as inconsequential in any other situation. This is most certainly a film driven by the stories of a distinct group of individuals – and even looking beyond the two leads, we can find masterful work being done by Kate Reid (as a former mob moll who has failed to realize that she is no longer the object of desire she was in her youth), and Michel Piccoli, who has a small but unforgettable role as the vaguely sinister casino manager who takes a liking to the alluring Sally – and ultimately, it all converges into a haunting portrait of a location that is far more intimidating than its glamourous exterior would have you believe. We’ve seen many films touch on the concept of the malice lurking beneath suburban life (Malle himself even touched on this very theme a few times throughout his career), but Atlantic City is one of the finest examples of employing the same tactic on a slightly wider scale, resulting in a harrowing but undeniably moving exploration of the human condition.

The legwork being done by these actors, in tandem with the incredible writing and Malle’s masterful style, immediately situates Atlantic City in the upper echelons of a number of genres, and establishes it as an essential work of poignant, humanistic drama, where characters are prioritized over the desire to remain within conventions (which are promptly broken without much hesitation on the part of a truly revolutionary director), and the story centres on the human experience, rather than attempting to meet impossible standards set out by decades of similarly-themed work. There are many fundamental differences between this and other films that doubtlessly inspired it – but if we were to condense it to a single element, it would be the unimpeachable optimism, the likes of which we rarely see from crime films such as this. The climax of Atlantic City is as harrowing as one would expect, but it manages to end on an exceptionally high-note, with the sense of hope triumphing over the despair that seems to categorize many films in the genre. This, and many other aspects, all add up to an incredibly potent work of dramatic filmmaking, where the nuance embedded within a simple but effective story makes for truly riveting viewing. Poetic without ever being delusional, Atlantic City is a staggering glimpse into the machinations of a location that has often existed as the subject of almost folkloric balladeering in the past, but is instead presented here as a complex, challenging town that puts its occupants through many challenges, and forces them to confront many quandaries that would otherwise be inconsequential if they weren’t under the hypnotic spell of a place that promises to facilitate the elusive but incredibly tempting American Dream, as well as the wealth and glory that come alongside it, if one is ever fortunate enough to even have a brief flirtation with it.