Men's Club

Well, at least it's different. This was apparently one of those "art house" type of films, as I cannot imagine anyone thinking it would be a commercial success. I didn't find it terribly bad, but certainly not very good, either. Direction, acting, photography were all OK. The script was what it was, and I can't think of any way to do it differently. One note for the ladies: there do exist a lot of guys who are faithful to their wives. Who want to be, and are. These might not be the best-looking ones, though. You make your choices, and you take your chances. Interesting, the conception of what goes on in high-dollar whorehouses. Having never been to one (in any price range) I've always wondered.

This might be worth watching if you've nothing better to do (or watch)

This movie is consisted of 3 parts: a shrink's home, the whore house and the wedding. The wedding part concentrates what this movie really wanted to tell to the audience. It is extremely philosophical and impressive movie not by naked women but the underlying idea about humanfs nature. The poem read at the wedding was very nice.

This movie is a bizarre mess. Long before Frank Langella wanders into camera range in women's make-up with a cigar, the blathering causes you to lose interest. Bewildering. Mind-numbing. Avoid this movie like the plague unless you are planning a triple feature with Showgirls and Battlefield Earth.

This sleaze-o-rama would have been a good theatrical play. But not a movie. I believe the cast made of the finest actors took the roles because the screenplay played like a play in their heads. On screen, it plays like a rather dull porn film because the actors talk too much. There's a beautiful closeup of Roy Scheider in bed with a prostitute. Turn it into a gif and throw the rest away.

It's not that the ideas in this movie are so dumb, it's just that they are so unambiguously presented. You actually notice the drama getting more subtle and complex when the brothel madam starts talking through a doll. It's too bad, because Roy Scheider really tries to make something of his part. He must have been holding his breath between takes because he has the expression of a man performing a field autopsy. Paul Schrader should re-write this lurid chewathon for Jimmy Smits. There's an actor who can spin gold out of lint.