In the summer, especially after a nice Fourth of July holiday, you might be feeling a tad bit patriotic, and in that case, maybe you shouldn't fire up 1968's American-dream-doubting film The Swimmer. This movie doesn't just look at the traditional, upper-middle-class way of life with a bit of a cocked eye, it lifts the rock from that experience to get a good surreal look at its seedy, despicable underbelly.
From here, the film's plot falls into place. Ned looks at the path from this first house to his own, an 8-mile stretch littered with several pools along the way, and decides that he will hop in every single one of them on his journey. The rest of the first half of the movie is spent with Ned doing more of the same: jumping in people's pools, giving unsolicited advice, tinkering with their belongings, harassing women, drinking too much, and being idolized by everyone that he comes across.
As the movie goes along, Julie oddly never changes out of her two-piece bathing suit, and Ned never lets her get far away. What already began as a gross feeling only gets worse, and our lead's intentions become dumbfoundingly clear. The two lengthily discuss their shared history, with Julie ending up confessing her long-gestating infatuation for him.
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