tedr0113

Objectively speaking, there is nothing wrong with this movie. It is well, even intelligently, written and well acted. It's intentions are fairly pure and, more importantly, a little ambiguous. (You don't really believe its arguing for restrictions on the press. But it lays bare some of the problems.) It is a well meaning film.

But...

It's a little flat. I'm not sure why. Possibly direction. Possibly a...self-important (perhaps grasping more than it could achieve?) screenplay. I'm really not sure why. But it feels to me it should have been more...compelling than it was. Perhaps if the Paul Newman character (not as acted. As written.) left you feeling a bit more ambiguous as to his role...or even his knowledge...in the key crime. Maybe if it was played by someone other than Paul Newman. Maybe if the direction/editing had been a little tighter than it was. (I do like Sydney Pollack, by the way.) I do recommend seeing this film. It is interesting at worst. But...it seems like it could have been more. Much more. It feels like it wanted to be.

I have to admit right off the bat I have no fondness for Paul Mazursky's films. I remember reading, somewhere, that he was a West Coast Woody Allen. If that is true, then he is Woody Allen without humor, or more importantly, without soul. This film follows George Segal (whom I've always liked) through his marriage, divorce and re-attachment with Susan Anspach. There is nothing innately offensive in this film. In fact, it strikes me as though it should be stuck in a time capsule of 70's film-making. And kept there. This is one of those films where you can't exactly pinpoint what is wrong with it but simply leaves you unsatisfied, unless you are a 70's film historian, I suppose. There is no connection with Blume, unless you are of his milieu. While (being NJ bound) I have affection for LA and the 70s, this film struck me as ingrown, meant for cognoscenti. A smart "ha-ha" that shows no outreach. And little comedy.

This is not as smug as "An Unmarried Woman" But at the end of 1:55, you will have shrugged your shoulders and gone "huh?" Maybe it was potent in 1973. But today, that just means its dated.

I have seen this film 4 times (at least). I despised it the first time. Then I saw a trailer (which was wonderful) that made me see it a second time. Still disliked it. Good reviews made me watch it on video and DVD. And you know what? I still hated it.

First, let me say that none of this is Jill Clayburgh's fault. She is absolutely fantastic. She inhabited her character fully and did with it as much as she could. He Oscar nom was well deserved.

The problem is the screenplay. Here, Paul Mazursky (for whom I have admittedly no fondness for) is incredibly SMUG. It is the screenplay I would imagine a self-important, in therapy, male with his head stuck up his own ass (and admiring the view) would write. Watching it is like watching a so-called sensitive male egotistic go on about how he is oh-so-sensitive to women's wants when all he wants to do is screw the babe. You roll your eyes, nod, and look for the exit.

If this film, or Mazursky, was less highly regarded, I'd probably wouldn't be on my high horse here. But he and it is, and I think that is a shame.