There has certainly not been any shortage of adoration for Hal Ashby coming from this writer, since Harold and Maude is quite possibly my choice for the greatest comedy ever made, and a personal favourite that I revisit on countless occasions, whether it is for its deep compassion, outrageous comedy or unmistakable warmth. For my money, Ashby is one of the great American filmmakers, one of the artistic bridges that connects the Golden Age of Hollywood (where he worked as an editor for several formidable directors) to the outset of New Hollywood, where he stepped behind the camera and helmed several incredible films on his own, many of which occurred at the perfect intersection between the two radically different periods, but which come together beautifully under his astonishing and precise direction. His directorial debut came in the form of The Landlord, which is not always considered one of his more cherished works as a whole but still has a cult following amongst devotees that have kept it alive and in the public consciousness for several decades. The story of the wayward and pretentious son of an affluent white suburban family deciding to use his allowance to buy a run-down tenement building in an urban area in the hopes of turning it into a home for himself, only to discover the plethora of lives that call the building their home, is certainly ahead of its time in both form and content and fertile ground for a deep but lighthearted look into race relations in an era where the concept of civil rights was at their apex, leading to a wickedly funny and thought-provoking satire that only someone with the immense skillfulness and masterful talents like Ashby could have achieved.

Without any question, The Landlord feels like the debut of someone who had been rattling around in the industry for a while, since it is rough around the edges, but delivered with commitment and a clear knowledge of the mechanics of how to make a film, which very likely comes from Ashby’s experiences working closely with a range of esteemed filmmakers, who undoubtedly taught him how to construct a memorable film, even if only by proxy. Few films have been able to capture the raw, revolutionary energy of New Hollywood quite as much as this one, which draws on the more intricate details associated with the movement to capture something much deeper than a surface-level analysis will lead you to believe. It’s not the most complex film, even if the jarring tone set by the first act does momentarily test our patience as we try and grapple with the seemingly endless stream of information presented to us (Ashby was not one to over-explain, since all of his films entailed the viewer forming a relationship with the story, and thus we are tasked with bringing our own interpretation to the proceedings), and the relatively straightforward approach to focusing on this young man learning about life on the other side of the tracks is an incredible and insightful work that warrants as much attention as anything else the director did in his career, even if it does find him at his most acidic, something that he would not abandon entirely, but certainly manage to refine in subsequent films, which is part of the inherent charm that comes with looking at the intersections between the social classes, and the various factors that go into only the most sincere and meaningful conversations, which Ashby somehow manages to reconfigure into this deliriously funny film.

Ashby made good use of his connections when it came to casting this film since the ensemble of The Landlord is one of his best. The film is led by a very youthful, fresh-faced Beau Bridges, who is charismatic enough to be a likeable protagonist, but also able to play the role of a smarmy, spoiled brat who is well into his adulthood, but has barely grown up, having to take lessons from others on how to act, especially since his mother (played by the formidable Lee Grant, in one of her most unheralded and bitingly funny performances) prefers to dote on him, ensuring that he is always sheltered and adherent to their image of what a young man’s life should be. This is a film about class division, and much of the story focuses on people in the school of hard knocks, which gave an opportunity to several exceptional performers. The legendary Pearl Bailey holds court as the matriarch of the apartment building, a force to be reckoned with and the person who initially opens the wealthier characters’ eyes to the realities that face the community that look on as if they are inferior. Diana Sands is just as strong, playing the central love interest and the person whose own personal journey reflects that of the protagonist, their relationship becoming the source of the central conflict of a film, as well as the emotional heart. The cast of The Landlord play a vital role in bringing this story to the screen since it functions as a well-oiled machine, whereby every component needs to work, or else the rest of the story can’t function – and Ashby’s gifts as one of the most effective directors when it comes to extracting great performances from his actors has never been more notable than in this film.

When we take a few steps back and consider the entirety of The Landlord, we see that this is a film made by someone who had a clear social conscience and was willing to use the platform to further certain issues. One of the most important components of New Hollywood was the fight for equality – for the first time ever, issues such as race, sexuality and the gender divide were not hidden in the periphery but rather stood steadfast as the foundation for many incredible works. Perhaps he is an unlikely source to look at some of these issues, but as a fierce liberal and someone who dedicated a lot of his time to advancing various causes, Ashby warrants a degree of respect for actually making films that draw attention to these issues. Perhaps it’s, not the smoothest or most subtle film, nor does it have any particularly nuanced commentary – but for a film produced over half a century ago, its approach to the issue of gentrification, interracial relationships and the class system are so relevant, we forget that this was not a film made a few years previously, but rather one that started this discourse several decades ago. This is the kind of actively engaging film that dares to stir up a slight amount of controversy, just for the sake of starting the conversation, which allows it to be far more mindful of these issues, while still finding the humour in between more serious moments, which make for quite an effective and well-crafted comedy that is not afraid to be slightly more off-beat when it is necessary.

The Landlord is a resonant and complex film that has continued to stand the test of time, and while Ashby would certainly make more polished films in later years, he achieves a level of insightfulness that makes this amongst his most potent experiments, and a generally exceptional film on all fronts. It provokes discussion that requires us to actually pay attention, rather than just observe these activities, and Ashby has a very distinct way of immersing the audience into these worlds in a way that feels remarkably genuine and interesting. Many of the ideas here are not as fully formed as others, and we are constantly in a state of trying to figure out exactly what the director means when it comes to certain combinations – but the combination of bold ideas and a spectacular cast are more than sufficient in establishing a strong and formidable story about race relations, made by a director that took advantage of his standing in the industry to create something remarkable, proving to be one of the most incredibly gifted filmmakers of his generation, and someone who could find room in even the most irreverent comedies for nuanced conversations, which just makes it an even more actively engaging and well-crafted film, one that stands as a much better film that most tend to give it credit for, and a work of socially-conscious art that has never been more timely than it is at the present moment.