American Gigolo, on Showtime

The original 1980 Richard Gere film was the first of the super-slick blockbusters Jerry Bruckheimer has produced, but it still delved into a gritty criminal underworld hidden from polite society, the way Paul Schrader often did in his best films. For the sequel-ish series, Bruckheimer is still on-board as an executive producer, but Schrader was cut out of the process. At least he gets credit for creating the characters. Even if Richard Gere were not a Tibetan Buddhist and an outspoken critic of the CCP’s human rights abuses (very much to his credit), he would still be a little too old to play Julian Kaye, the high-class hustler. Despite all the fudging and retconning, creator David Hollander manages to channel the vibe of Schrader’s film pretty well in American Gigolo, which premieres tomorrow on Showtime.

It still starts with Giorgio Moroder & Debbie Harry’s “Call Me,” because it would be crazy not to. You maybe thought Lauren Hutton’s conscience finally spurred her to alibi Richard Gere at the end of the source film, but apparently it didn’t really happen that way. Instead, Det. Sunday discovered Kaye asleep next to the dead body of a client and convinced him to confess, the way they always did in NYPD Blue. Fifteen years later (in the mid-2000s) a terminally ill hitman makes a deathbed confession, which DNA-testing confirms.

Suddenly, Kaye is free and exonerated. So, who set him up? Frankly, Sunday seems more interested in that question than he is. Kaye kept in shape while serving his time, but he is not eager to go back to work for his old procurer, the notorious madam known as “The Queen.” As we learn in flashbacks, he had good reasons to resent her, even before his “troubles.” On the other hand, he would kind of like to see his “special client” Michelle Stratton (previously played by Hutton), but life with her rich and controlling husband has been hard for her.

There is a lot of flashy excess in American Gigolo, which is sort of the point (presumably, much of Kaye’s wardrobe is still Armani). The distinguished-looking Gere is probably too distinguished to play Kaye in his late thirties-ish, but Jon Bernthal is a spookily close likeness for him. Incidentally, there are a few Buddhist references in the first three episodes provided for review, which would be cool if they were intended as a hat-tip to Gere (seriously, without him, this series probably wouldn’t exist).

Bernthal is a little tougher and steelier than Gere was in the film, but that rather makes sense, since his Kaye has just done fifteen years of relatively hard time. In a gender-flip hardly worth noting, Rosie O’Donnell takes over from Hector Elizondo as Det. Sunday. In fact, she is one of the best aspects of the show, eschewing her regular shtick, in favor of dry sarcasm and world-weary cynicism.

The Pilgrimage: Transporting The Rock

It wasn’t that long ago that the Irish saved civilization, but by 1209 they are apparently ready to go all in with the barbarians. Christianity has consolidated its hold on Europe, so woe unto those who are not down with Rome’s program. In this case, the Pope has decreed a relic held by a remote Irish monastery should be moved to the Vatican. The Brothers know this is a mistake, but they still faithfully comply.  A ragtag group of the faithful and the zealous will embark on a violent road trip in Brendan Muldowney’s The Pilgrimage (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Supposedly, The Rock of St. Matthias martyred the apostle who filled Judas’s vacancy, but it caused the hurler to immolate immediately thereafter. Since then, anyone of insufficient virtue who touches it, meets a similar fate. It might not look like much, but The Rock sure would be handy to have on a crusade.

Frankly, Brother Geraldus the Cistercian is more of an inquisition guy than a crusader, but he has embraced his assignment from the Pope with typical fervor. In exchange for safe passage, Geraldus has promised the aging Baron De Merville absolution, but his rebellious heir, Raymond De Merville has cut his own deal with the king. However, he did not bargain on the fierce fighting prowess of The Mute, a lay penitent, who has taken a vow of silence. The Mute is more concerned with protecting the young novice Brother Diarmuid than The Rock, but he is certainly no stranger to killing.

There are a few decent scenes of hack-and-slash action in Pilgrimage, but Heaven help us Brother, is it ever didactic. Geraldus is such a prissy, preening, unsubtly vile anti-Catholic caricature, he makes it difficult to get past his polemical howlers. At one point, when recalling how he killed his own father on the rack for so-called heresy, Geraldus hisses: “the problem wasn’t that he lost his faith in the Church, he’d lost his fear of it.” Ooooh, how cold.

If Muldowney had read a little Thomas Cahill and laid off the polemics, Pilgrimage could have been an agreeably muddy and gritty action historical. Cinematographer Tom Comerford makes it all look appropriately dark and dank. Most importantly, Jon Bernthal has the chops and the presence for the silently glowering Mute. On the other hand, Stanley Weber is a horror show of villainous tics and clichés as the mustache-twisting Geraldus. Tom Holland, the new Spiderman nobody asked for, is a vanilla wallflower non-entity as Diarmuid. However, John Lynch lends the film more dignity and gravitas than it deserves as the noble Brother Ciarán.

After watching Pilgrimage you will feel like you were hit over the head with a giant mace, just like De Merville’s foes. This is definitely a case where less could have been more. Not recommended, The Pilgrimage opens today (8/11) in New York, at the Village East.