A surreal exploration of middle class suburbia, The Swimmer follows the journey of a disgraced man’s ‘swim’ home through his various neighbours’ swimming pools. Ned Merill (Burt Lancaster) is a man desperate to prove that he ‘has it all’, with delusions of grandeur which clash with reality. His desperation to insert himself into this toxic suburban environment of wealth, one-upmanship and panache leaves him shut out in the cold. In the scene in question, Ned crashes an upper middle class pool party whilst on his ‘swim’ back home. His unnervingly chipper attitude is met with disdain by the guests, and he is promptly thrown out. This extract immediately establishes the host Biswanger and his associates as the patriarchal (yet parodic) example of the ideal man. Their outfits, drinks in hand and smug expressions nod to their obvious high social standing, and whilst the audience recognises this absurdist façade of manhood and bravado, this is a world in which Ned desperately seeks to establish himself. As Biswanger discusses his new spectacle, the low angle shot (Fig. 1) not only lends the men an image of power, but also draws the gaze to the extravagant pool roof. This iconography draws attention to the culture of one-upmanship which dominates the film’s male spaces, reinforcing the way conspicuous consumption shapes status and society. This creates the central dilemma of both the scene and The Swimmer. With the expectations put in place for Ned to meet, is it a surprise he responds with aggressive overcompensation?
As Ned attempts to infiltrate the gathering, the mise-en-scène uses the next shot to contrast his presence with that of the party-goers. Within the frame (Fig. 2) he is positioned as an outsider looking in, with high contrast and bright colours exaggerating the lively yet somewhat surreal gathering below. After spraining his ankle in a previous scene, Ned’s pronounced limp is a mark of his ageing body; but more importantly, it is a sign of fragility. Showing vulnerability is the antithesis of masculinity in a patriarchal world, with Ned’s display of his injury effectively marking him as ‘prey’. As men are expected to be the ‘providers’, strong and predatory, anything less than such is treated harshly. His weakness is further demonstrated by his semi-nakedness, exposing him to the elements. He holds his arms close to his near nude body, a typically feminine posture. Ned shivers by the drinks table, an action which contradicts the appearance of the weather. The use of mise-en-scène through performance and costuming singles out Ned as an anomaly among his fellow men, allowing the audience to see through his awkward attempts at integration.

Perry uses the mise-en-scène to critique the gendered roles society enforces, as well as the individuals such as Ned who aggressively try to emulate them. The result, as Woods says, is ‘the portrait of a Man, and the story of the desperately small man who hides within that portrait, and the devastation wrought by his attempts to inhabit the myths of manhood needed to sustain that strange simulacra’ (2018). Ned’s weakened state of mind/body combined with his delusions of power open him up to his later confrontation with Biswanger.

Ned’s hyper-masculine façade clashes repeatedly with reality within the scene, the most obvious example being his attempt to seduce Joan. As Joan drunkenly attempts to chat up Ned, he sees an opportunity to re-establish his sexual prowess after his previous encounter with Julie. As they back and forth, Ned dreamily announces that he is an incredibly special man (Fig. 3 left). In this close up, Ned appears to no longer be looking at Joan, instead wistfully stares into the distance. His lost expression immediately shatters the illusion of a confident ladies’ man. The mise-en-scène here is used to directly oppose the dialogue. The shadows split his face in two, demonstrating that there are two faces to Ned Merill.

At a surface level, Ned Merill is an athletic, successful man with a strong sexual appetite; but within this reverse shot (Fig. 3 right), his shell is cracked away almost instantaneously. If we cannot trust what Ned says, we rely on the mise-en-scène to establish what is really happening outside the patriarchal fantasy that he clings desperately to. The element of performance is used here to point out the ridiculousness of Ned’s persona through the reaction of Joan and her friend. Unlike the reaction Ned expects, she looks back at him with confusion and disgust before her friend pulls her away from him. This is a strong indicator to the audience that Ned’s charming guise is slipping, revealing the lonely and broken man that lies beneath.

As outlined by Benshoff and Griffin, Joan’s appearance in the scene may appear to be a classical set up for Ned ‘the doer’, to seduce the passive Joan ‘the done unto’ (259). However, Perry uses this situation to subvert this masculine centric set-up often played out in Hollywood film. Ned originally seems to fall into the category of the ideal of masculinity, but by Perry effectively using mise-en-scène to take us outside his perspective, we can see the reality of the situation through Joan and the other guests. This scene is an excellent example of a character study through the masculine lens, using surreal imagery to poke fun at the prejudicial world-view of both the characters within the story, and the audience watching it. The illusion of the American Dream still holds strong even today, making Perry’s excellent breakdown of its influence on men still relevant fifty years on.

References

Benshoff, Harry M. and Griffin, Sean. America on Film: Representing Race, Class, Gender and Sexuality at the Movies. New Jersey: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009


Kuhn, Annette, Westwell, Guy. Oxford Dictionary of Film Studies. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012.

Woods, Travis. A Life in the Day: The Masculine Irreality of The Swimmer, BrightWallDarkRoom.com. Web. 2018, Accessed 11th March 2020.

Amelia Kaminski is a second year undergraduate at Queen Mary hoping to one day hold a PhD in Film Studies. Enjoying creative writing from a young age, she also hopes to write and direct.

Please obtain permission before redistributing. Copyright © Amelia Kaminski 2020