In 1966, one of the great American film directors brought to the silver screen an omen of things to come. That film is Seconds. Directed by John Frankenheimer, it is the story of a disillusioned middle-aged man contacted by an agency known as “The Company,” which specializes in providing “rebirths”: new identities and appearances through massive reconstructive plastic surgery. Sound familiar? It does to me. I started putting the pieces together with the rise of “looksmaxxing” this year, the act of totally overhauling your appearance to “win at life.” It’s a mindset that has plagued our country for decades, leading more and more people to take massive gambles on unproven treatments so they can “look better.” Take Kylie Jenner, a woman who has been open about all the work she has had done. Many look at her and think there’s nothing left to fix, yet just this past week she went on a podcast to proclaim she wants even bigger boobs. Is there ever a point where enough is enough, where you feel satisfied with what you have? For many of the “winners” of modern life, the answer is no. There is never enough; there is always something to improve, and Seconds deconstructs this mindset into a psychological thriller that was decades ahead of the curve.
Seconds centers on Arthur Hamilton, a middle-aged, successful banker living in the suburbs of New York. Despite his personal and professional success, he is profoundly unfulfilled. One day, after a harrowing opening sequence set in 1960s Grand Central Terminal, Arthur receives a phone call from a friend he thought was dead, who has in fact gone through the cycle of “rebirth.” The friend extols its upsides, pokes at Arthur’s underlying dissatisfaction, and convinces him to visit The Company to learn more. Once he enters its liminal, almost Backrooms-like office space, there is no turning back.
The Company blackmails Arthur and forces him to undergo the surgery. He emerges as Tony Wilson, played by Rock Hudson: tall, slender, good-looking. He is given a new home in Malibu, a new profession as a painter, and a community of people just like him. But the veil soon lifts, and Wilson grows disenchanted again, this time fixating on the artifice of his new life. He flees back to New York to see his wife, who tells him she always felt Arthur was emotionally disconnected, always longing for something she could never understand. Eventually he returns to The Company asking for a second new identity, one that truly fits who he believes himself to be. They reject his request, demand a new referral he cannot produce, and he is unceremoniously disposed of.
So how does this connect to today? A large portion of the population is totally disillusioned with their lives. And how could they not be? The rich get richer and “hotter,” while less and less is given to the people who need it most. Looksmaxxing springs from this exact mindset. Young men who feel scorned by a society that “doesn’t need them” deeply believe that to succeed, they must look a certain way: their faces must be certain dimensions, their bodies artificially sculpted. They take on new personas, sever ties to their previous lives, and in many ways create a second existence for themselves. They want to be more attractive, sleep with more women, and wring everything they can from this life. But the bill always comes due, and eventually they grow disillusioned all over again. There is a deeper problem at the heart of it: a crisis of self-confidence, an inability to understand that the hole inside you cannot be filled with material things. You can trace this all the way back to The Great Gatsby, with Gatsby himself taking on a new identity to attract the love of a woman he can never have. In some ways this seems to be a fundamental human problem. Most of us learn to silence that voice. Others fall prey to the devil on their shoulder.
So who was John Frankenheimer? Frankenheimer was one of the best genre directors of the 20th century, with a distinct visual flair that constantly pushed the boundaries of what was possible. His most famous films are The Manchurian Candidate (1962), Seconds (1966), Grand Prix (1966), and Ronin (1998), all tightly constructed and still impactful today. In Seconds, Frankenheimer and cinematographer James Wong Howe were among the first filmmakers to use the Snorricam, a rig that attaches the camera directly to an actor’s body. Its locked-off perspective creates a dizzying effect, typically used to portray someone really going through it. The Snorricam became much more widely known at the turn of the century when Darren Aronofsky used it in both Pi (1998) and Requiem for a Dream (2000).
But that’s not the only technical achievement in Frankenheimer’s career. Last year, much was made of the camera technology in F1 (2025): small Sony cameras mounted onto real racing cars, capable of panning 360 degrees. But F1 wasn’t the first film to do this. Grand Prix (1966) was. Working with bigger cameras, heavier rigs, and far less control, Frankenheimer strapped 35mm cameras onto real racing cars and sent them around tracks like Monza at full speed, the camera panning back and forth between the driver and the track.
Frankenheimer was also a master of the car chase, best showcased in Ronin (1998). With his incredible command of escalating tension and a masterful hand at staging action, he crafted one of the most iconic chase sequences ever committed to film, with Robert De Niro chasing after Jonathan Pryce through the streets of Paris in a sequence that has enough chaos, beauty, and destruction to last a lifetime.
All of that is to say: the general public is sleeping on John Frankenheimer. He delivered numerous iconic films, with Seconds being my personal favorite. It’s just as prescient today as it was in 1966, and it’s a film everyone should see. If you’re looking to expand your filmic knowledge and are looking for a recommendation, Seconds is it. And if there’s one thing to take away from this somewhat long diatribe, it’s this: believe in yourself. You are enough.
