The Framer wasn't Framed

At an art auction in Hamburg, two men make an acquaintance that leads to murder in 1977's The American Friend. Among other things. Directed by Wim Wenders, it's based on one of Patricia Highsmith's novels about Tom Ripley, the talented sociopath. It's a film with surprisingly beautiful compositions for the subject matter (though not for Wenders) and the film's leads, Dennis Hopper and Bruno Ganz, both give terrific performances.

Hopper plays Ripley as basically Dennis Hopper, as per usual. We all love Hopper but he's not known as a chameleon, is he? He might as well be Frank Booth or Billy from Easy Rider. Apparently Highsmith wasn't happy with him in the role at first but changed her mind after a second viewing. He's certainly a far cry from Alain Delon or Matt Damon. He's a lot more butch than either of them, something that may go against the homoerotic subtext the Tom Ripley stories are famous for.

Or maybe it makes it better. Murder isn't gay sex, after all. But if you've been inculcated with a certain morality, even if your intellect disagrees with it, they might seem the same. Which is what's so fascinating about the possible metaphor at play.

Ganz plays a picture framer who meets Ripley at that fateful auction. He has a possibly terminal disease and Ripley uses that as a means of manipulating him into being a hitman. Ganz turns out to be rather clumsy at the job which makes for some terrifically suspenseful scenes. He's really not good at hiding his gun, for one thing and, oh, what could that mean?

The affection that springs up between the two is truly charming. More than being a metaphor, the film ultimately feels like a rumination on the indefinable substance of human feeling and relationships.

The American Friend is available on The Criterion Channel.

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A spot of light revealed the table game.
A dream remembered rose above the skin.
For satin gowns the gold invokes a name.
The law was smartly carved in brittle tin.
The wind remembered lunch was by the lake.
A distant dog and bird forgot the space.
As clear the mysteries of love could make.
This time she'd not but then she saw your face.
With clouds behind the sun we plotted dusk.
With wires choking malls they tore it down.
And now the pleasant park is but a husk.
As surely empty eggs control the town.
The list of names exceeds the people here.
The mound of graves precedes the living fear.