After Hours

Despite much deliberation over how to do justice to the metropolitan masterpiece that is After Hours, I came to the conclusion that the only way to do so would be to simply implore you all to just watch the film. Because, while the narrative of business lackey Paul Hackett traversing New York City in a nighttime odyssey of romance may seem unassuming, master auteur Martin Scorsese constructs such a unique tonal liminality that one cannot quite articulate. Is After Hours a romance? A comedy? It certainly involves affection and it undoubtedly makes me laugh, but After Hours is almost nightmarish as its narrative descends into one bizarre encounter after another. I’m afraid, to compound the generic uncertainty, that I cannot offer a clear answer as to what the film is really about either; concepts as diverse as religious allegory, New York and its social idiosyncrasies, or even castration anxieties struggle for the fore, yet no message quite emerges victorious. However, my frankly woeful attempt to pin After Hours down may just be proof of the film’s ubiquity. It represents something different to everybody, a single review cannot do it justice — after all, “different rules apply” after hours. As you leave L3, you may be left with more questions than you entered with, but I guarantee, through the dazzling compositions of one of America’s greatest filmmakers as aided by Howard Shore’s mesmeric score, you’ll have experienced a film that is truly like no other.

Sam Ripley

After Hours is one long fever dream that follows Paul Hackett’s (Griffin Dunne) unfortunate and bizarre experiences through the course of a single night. One lesson that can be taken away from Hackett’s night is that sometimes it is just better to stay at home, tucked in your bed. You might not be able to get back if you venture out and your own luck, or lack thereof, might surprise you.

Hashir