The more times I watch this, the more I fixate on how sad and lonely it is. Bowler hat and shaving-cream beard levity aside, Jack Lemmon’s C. C. Baxter is living such a bleak life, killing time at all times, not just while his apartment is being used as a fuckpad.
I thought a bit about labor and AI when I saw all the people operating switchboards, elevators, and crunching numbers at rows and rows of desks.