During the 1970s, few Hollywood directors had as successful a critical and financial track record as Hal Ashby. He made unique, challenging films — Harold and Maude, The Last Detail, Shampoo, Being There — that were embraced by critics and audiences alike, creating an almost unheard combination of commercial success and esthetic rewards. But the first sign of Ashby’s tremendous talent was a modest, character-driven microcosm of America that has long been unavailable in any format ... until now.

The Landlord, released in 1970, is the tale of one Elgar Enders, an entitled son of privilege who decides to purchase a run-down apartment with the intention of tearing it down, evicting all the tenants, and erecting a luxury hotel in its place. The film follows Elgar as he interacts with his suspicious family and the equally suspicious melting pot of apartment dwellers, trying to balance the requests of the many with his burgeoning understanding of what it truly means to be white in America in 1969.

Ashby started his career as an editor, and his understanding and mastery of that craft is immediately apparent in The Landlord. The film unfolds in a succession of unhurried details, adopting a leisurely pace that suggests scene placement as an afterthought rather than a calculated plan. The linear storyline of The Landlord is ordinary at best, but Ashby’s skill as a cutter frees him to explore its explosive subtext in a more comprehensive manner than more scene-driven directors would be able to. This fragmentation of scenes and characters is a perfect complement to the fragmentation that was North American society in 1969 and imbues the film with an “of the time” feel that, paradoxically, feels timeless when witnessed today.

Beau Bridges gives one of the best performances of his career as the confused and caring Elgar, encouraging the audience to identify with his predicament while Ashby undercuts the character’s heroism with sly digs at his lily-white brand of liberalism. It’s Bridges’ film all the way, but he is supported by a tremendous supporting cast (including Pearl Bailey and Lou Gossett) who give performances remarkably free of “acting” or “characterization.” The film feels remarkably real, as if all these individuals were shaped and moulded by the building itself as opposed to Ashby’s scissors.

As you watch The Landlord, even if you’ve never heard of Hal Ashby, you get the feeling it was made by someone who someday, somehow would create a masterpiece but is still unsure as to how that will ever come about. It’s film by an artist who always cared for people more than he cared for himself. It’s a work of art by an artist who is sadly missed ... and a film that is sadly forgotten.