A brutal deconstruction of masculinity, a lyrical decimation of virility and a savage stab at the tenuous fragility of the nouveau riche. Or have I got that the wrong way round? The Swimmer (dated in a way that only serves to enhance its strange potency) is as disorienting for the viewer as it is for Ned Merrill, gradually peeling layers off him with every swim, every pool, every encounter.
I can't even say "They don't make 'em like this any more", because they didn't even make them like this back then. Outstanding.