In 1973, Robert Altman directed The Long Goodbye, which was a contemporisation of Raymond Chandler’s novel that once again followed the exploits of Phillip Marlowe as he makes his way through a nightmarish version of Los Angeles. Beyond being a terrific film in and of itself, it was also a watershed moment for a genre that had been laying dormant for a while. Film noir in its purest form had gone out of fashion at least a decade prior, and while these kinds of films never ceased to be made, they mainly took the form of directors trying to rekindle the flame under a genre that, regardless of the effort, had its heyday many years before, and would forever be considered a remnant of the past. Resituating the action in the 1970s essentially opened up the world of these stories, and brought them to the modern day – and Altman was at the forefront of it, essentially helping to pioneer the neo-noir movement, which did have a few earlier entries, such as Harper and a string of well-regarded British crime dramas, under which we can see many traits that previously defined the genre being questioned and reconfigured into something entirely new. This brings us to The Late Show, a film that Altman did not direct, but rather aided by producing, after screenwriter Robert Benton brought the script to him to have Altman helm the production. It was a good choice, since not only did it help Benton receive the necessary boost to become one of the most consistent and interesting filmmakers working at the time, but it allowed us to encounter a film that is experimental and daring, in a way that New Hollywood not only allowed, but actively encouraged, leading to a fascinating work that carries a very distinct tone, caught somewhere between melancholic and outrageous, and proving the undeniable power of a story that is simply told well.

While we may know him as the director of some well-regarded films over his career, Benton was at one point a screenwriter-for-hire, someone who would take on material that may not have been all that invigorating, but put his special touch on, bringing these stories to life through his tremendous grasp on the craft. Prior to The Late Show, Benton had only directed one previous film, the cult revisionist western Bad Company. Much like another Altman production from around the same time, McCabe and Mrs Miller, this film took a well-regarded genre and looked for new ways to experiment. Essentially, it proved that Benton certainly had a penchant for more subversive works, which is why Altman’s insistence that he direct The Late Show was so important, since not only had the esteemed director made his own definitive neo-noir, Benton’s vision was far more integral in bringing these characters to life. There’s a level of detail that is absolutely integral to how the film expands and develops the story, using the time to explore both this particular location (with Los Angeles in the 1970s being a fascinating setting for the film, especially when we start to look at the concept of decadence that started to manifest in major urban centres around the time of the Vietnam War, which is a conversation for another time), and the eccentric people that populate it. Benton’s style is one that is a lot more simple – he makes his inspirations known, with The Late Show being as much about paying homage to classic film noir as it is focused on deconstructing the genre and looking at it in new ways, which was the impetus between the entire neo-noir movement in the first place.

The Late Show has often been the subject of debate around specific genre classification – at a cursory glance, you’d expect certain components of the film to lend itself to humour. The narrative at the start is a lot more upbeat, and the presence of the always delightful comedic icon Lily Tomlin is enough to give us the impression that Benton has made an irreverent and charming comedy. There are several moments of sincere humour, but the film is also governed by a very sentimental tone, a kind of melancholic complexity that speaks directly to the main characters and their existential quandaries. Benton brings up themes around ageing, companionship and loneliness, which are not immediately the subject of the most rollicking, upbeat comedies – but what the film lacks in upbeat humour in a lot of moments, it makes up for in deep sincerity for the more detailed development of its characters. The film is very measured in its pace – it is a lot slower than the more rapid-fire films that inspired it, which may sound like a flaw but is really the result of the film aiming to focus on the sadder side of the story, with nostalgia being a primary theme of the film, particularly in regards to the character played by Art Carney, who spends much of the film in silent reflection on the “good old days”, where he was a much more energetic and passionate professional. The film is not against tugging on the audience’s heartstrings when it is necessary, and it can sometimes feel intentionally downbeat – but this is all part of the masterful work Benton is doing, since he finds space to balance both humour and pathos, creating a vibrant and actively engaging work that feels well-constructed and very meaningful, almost to the point where one may find themselves revisiting certain segments, not necessarily to get a better understanding of the plot, but simply to bask in the glory of this fascinating and experimental drama.

As mentioned above, we’re often misled into thinking that The Late Show is a comedy, mainly through the presence of the two stars, both of whom were more well-regarded for their contributions to American humour. Carney was the ever-reliable supporting star of the wildly popular The Honeymooners, while Tomlin was known for her subversive and very experimental approach to comedy, which was almost unheard of for female comics at the time. However, this is only undercut by the fact that both were very skilled dramatic actors – Carney had an entire film based around him in the form of Harry and Tonto (which solidified his legacy as a screen actor), while Tomlin was one of the breakout stars of Altman’s Nashville. They bring the same level of dedication to this film, with The Late Show being constructed as one of the many films that take two unlikely protagonists that are about as diametrically opposed as one can get, and places them in close proximity, allowing the audience to witness the gradual thawing of their hostile relationship. The odd couple scenario is a trope that is tried and tested, and has proven to be very successful when done right – and throughout The Late Show, we’re able to see one of the most unexpectedly moving stories of friendship. The two performances are much more subtle (but both do have countless moments where they’re able to show humour – Benton may have been interested in drawing out their more dramatic side, but not at the expense of the qualities that made them successful in the first place), and they play into the more soft-hearted tone of a film that is much more sobering than we’d expect based on a cursory glance. This may be a career-best for both leads, which seems almost inappropriate to say about two absolute icons – but sometimes the most effective works are those that call into question convention, and manage to make good use of them in a way that is always interesting and compelling, which is very much true of these performances, which essentially define the entire film.

The Late Show is not a film that is undying in its devoted reverence to the film noir genre, but it is also not a parody. Instead, it is a film that takes a beloved genre, and reconfigures many of its primary components to fit into a more contemporary mould, rather than spending its already paltry running time paying tribute to the films of yesteryear. It doesn’t want to join the ranks of The Big Sleep and The Maltese Falcon or any of the other great films noir that are subtly reference throughout the film – instead, it wants to be its own unique production, a fascinating and well-crafted riff on a genre that was wildly popular decades ago, but inevitably fell out of favour as a result of New Hollywood – but instead of mocking the genre, The Late Show actively tries to explore it on its own, venturing into unexpected narrative terrain, and maintaining a solid tone that keeps us engaged. The film is primarily driven by atmosphere (as any great film noir should be – the more incomprehensible a story, the better), but it also has a very strong story that leads us away from looking at it as only a subversion of a popular genre, and instead drawing our attention to the fact that it is a much more actively compelling character study, one that is well-crafted by a director that was still finding his footing, and featuring two absolutely wonderful performances by a fair of great actors. The Late Show is a magnificent film, a simple but evocative neo-noir that offers everything from mystery to humour, and even a slight touch of romance, all of which are tied together to form this bold and thought-provoking attempt to breathe new life into a dormant genre, without relying too heavily on the success of the past, and inadvertently forging a path for half a century of excellent films that take a similar approach.