Struggling against returning to his home, Paul, a young handsome office worker in New York, who meets a young attractive girl, who invites him to her hometown, Soho, where he lost his money and finds himself involved in many terrible, the thing that challenges him.
The film is riddled with cryptic mysteries, not to mention Cheech and Chong, and it plays as an urbane older brother to David Lynch's psychosexual masterpiece Blue Velvet.
Like many of Scorsese's earlier pictures, After Hours has a fascination with the bizarre. But the new film is lighter in spirit than any Scorsese film, with the possible exception of Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore.
One of the best self-conscious black comedies to come along in a long time, Martin Scorsese`s After Hours is a film that delivers humor and anxiety like a smack in the face with an amphetamine pie.
Scorsese's orchestration of thematic development, narrative structure, and visual style is stunning in its detail and fullness; this 1985 feature reestablished him as one of the very few contemporary masters of filmmaking.
The more bizarre and frantic the material, the more I felt the strength and sureness of Scorsese's directorial hand, taming the screenplay's goblins and rendering them harmless.
As absurdist angst-ridden comedy, "After Hours" isn't flawless. As Martin Scorsese's way of using art to cathartically shake off bugaboos, exorcise demons and bounce back stronger after major dream-project setbacks, it's its own sort of masterpiece.
After Hours is dazzling movie making; you could get a giddy kick just from cinematographer Michael Ballhaus' shot as a set of house keys floats down toward the camera, tossed from a top-floor apartment.
