Warren Beatty gives a sublimely silly performance in Shampoo, but before we get to his contributions—not only as star, but also as co-screenwriter and producer—we need to honor the movie’s Most Valuable Participants: its supporting female cast.
The talent surrounding Beatty’s George, a Beverly Hills hairdresser with a habit of sleeping with his clients, is astounding. There’s Goldie Hawn, sunny and very funny as Jill, George’s current girlfriend (I love the bit where Hawn swings her legs open and closed while breathing into a paper bag). And Julie Christie, jaded and lonely as George’s ex, now mistress to a businessman (she also wears the hell out of a sparkling, backless cocktail dress). And Lee Grant, willfully deluded as the businessman’s wife, who is carrying on an affair with George. Oh, and Carrie Fisher, clear-eyed and calculating in her feature debut as their daughter. Each portrays a uniquely envisioned woman who launches herself into George’s orbit for her own distinct reason. Together, they create a solar system equally comprised of comedy and pathos.
As for Beatty, I don’t know if he’s ever been funnier. He boasts a mane of blown-out hair that floats like a cloud around George’s face, which only adds to his general state of discombobulation. His mouth agape, his expression dazed, and almost always walking in circles, Beatty brings a physicality to George’s dimness and desperation. (Another nice bit of physical acting: when he gingerly sits in a chair literally sore from the day’s cavalcade of lovers.) Not that George is a clown. Finally called to task by Jill near the end of the film, he offers all sorts of flummoxed excuses before blurting out in embarrassment: “It makes me feel like I’m gonna live forever.” It turns out George’s neediness might be stronger than his sex drive. In a way, he’s the one being manipulated by the women—or at least some of them—as they exploit his narcissism and naivete.
Perhaps this is where the political element comes in. Set on the night of Richard Nixon’s 1968 election, Shampoo frequently features radios or televisions in the background tuned to political news. The businessman (Jack Warden) throws a lavish party in support of Nixon’s campaign, which is where George finally drops all the balls he’s been juggling. In this sense, George can be seen as a stand-in for those who wore the social revolution as a fashion trend, oblivious to the fact that they were about to be blindsided by a paranoid, reactionary form of conservatism. That’s just a guess, though, as the political implications are only teased in the screenplay, never fully explored. (Beatty collaborated on the script with Robert Towne, and it’s as unkempt as Towne’s script for Chinatown, released the previous year, is airtight.)
For director, Beatty tapped Hal Ashby, whose 1970s output (Harold and Maude, Being There) qualifies him as cinema’s shaggy auteur. Ashby also has a deadpan touch, which never overplays the humor but rather makes room for a wistful moment here and there. (The same can be said of the original music by Paul Simon.) For all its laughs, Shampoo features an array of characters who share a sadness born of vague dissatisfaction. Ultimately, this is a tragicomedy about a common human predicament: we’ll never find contentment if the only thing we really want is always the one thing we don’t have.
