La Fille à la casquette

As far as pairings of Joanne Woodward and husband Paul Newman go, "A New Kind of Love" lacks the snappy plot and dramatic depth necessary to do its leading actors justice. Woodward steals the show as Sam, a homely and somewhat androgynous fashion designer often mistaken for a man (it's the pageboy haircut and constantly smoldering cigarette in her mouth); Newman is aesthetically pleasing (and alarmingly convincing) in the role of handsome, sarcastic Steve, a New York journalist who pursues more young women than hot story leads.

After an initial awkward opening sequence, the first forty or so minutes of the film are stimulating, with intriguing color schemes and costumes, quick wit and acerbic dialogue, beautiful Parisian scenery and an escalating plot line. Beyond that, however, the plot seems to drag, and frequent unnecessary departures are made from it - the musical montage with Maurice Chevalier, for instance, slows the film down and only serves to severely date the film (not to mention alienate any viewer who is clueless as to who, exactly, Maurice Chevalier is.) Some scenes are played out far beyond their initial artistic effect (the split-screen sequences), while others are confusing and impede the general flow of the storyline (Steve's visions of bawdy tales played out like sports), giving the story an air of ridiculousness instead of credibility.

All in all, this light comedy shines with the sheer romantic energy of Newman and Woodward (I found myself re-watching various parts of the film just to marvel at the undeniable chemistry between the two), but has none of the lasting impact of the pair's other films. It leaves one feeling a bit unsated, perhaps because of the overly-muddled plot that seems to have been convoluted merely to stretch the movie into a 90-minute romp - but the beautiful Woodward sparkles with natural talent, and Newman's on screen presence compliments hers seemingly without effort. Fans of Paul and Joanne will be charmed, but not moved, by this New Kind of Love.

"A New Kind of Love" is a genuinely bad film--something you'd never expect considering it stars Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward. Additionally, having Thelma Ritter for support would also seem to guarantee a much better film. However, despite the talent, the film is terrible--with only a few moments here or there that rise above the rest. The bottom line is that if you have a badly written film, even top stars won't save it.

Paul Newman's character is a HUGE part of the problem. While he's supposed to be a bright and talented newspaper man, he's mostly just a horny guy who spends most of his time chasing women. This is very one-dimensional and makes him hard to like. As for Woodward, she is more interesting--a scared woman who makes herself look far less attractive because of her fears. However, after getting herself a makeover when she's in Paris, he sees her and thinks she's a prostitute--a very expensive prostitute--and that intrigues him. Does any of this sound the least bit romantic? And, does it seem very funny? If your answer to both is 'no', then you see why the film has a lot of problems. All in all, a very disappointing and unfunny movie.

By the way, there really is a Festival of St. Catherines and women really do such silly hats. I assume, however, that most parties for St. Catherines did not involve having Maurice Chevalier showing up to entertain!

That quote, uttered by a tearful Joanne Woodward, is the perfect summation of this frothy sex comedy: It gives us a brief taste of something delicious before breaking off and leaving us cold and disappointed. Let's start at the beginning. Paul Newman is at his coolest as a slick swinger, and Joanne Woodward is appealing as the unkempt, androgynous fashion consultant everyone keeps mistaking for a man. There's a terrific opening, followed by some snappy montages and split screens. But then, about halfway through, the fun's over and the frustration begins. Suddenly everything is presented before the camera in a very bland manner as the plot becomes a ponderous romantic chase into nothingness. The characters begin spouting cliches about love and marriage. And to top it off, the film pulls that awful hooker-housewife double standard still widely in use today: If a man enjoys sex he's a playboy, if a woman enjoys sex she's a tramp. The whole thing becomes so obtrusive and heavy handed that not even the charm of Paul, Joanne, and the bubbly Eva Gabor can save it. Despite being set in red hot, exquisitely photographed Paris, A New Kind of Love's traditional, preachy, and ultimately boring sensibilities would be more at home in suburban Iowa.

The bad news is that the plot is hackneyed and boring. Reporter Newman mistakes fashion family heir Woodward for high-priced prostitute. The goods news is that the plot is mostly irrelevant, but the chemistry between Paul and Joanne is not, and neither is their comic timing. You also have Thelma Ritter and George Tobias on hand to assure a generous helping of chuckles. I give it 6 out of 10; it's a decent time passer.

"A New Kind of Love" is a forgettable farce comedy teamed with Newman and Woodward … It's an unpretentious story: a simple, mannish woman foolish1y devotes herself to a career instead of doing what women are supposed to do—hunt for husbands… But she gives her beauty treatment, a new style and expensive clothes and she'll straighten out and find a man… The new look is that after her marked change, the man mistakes her for a prostitute…

Although she's humiliated, she encourages his misunderstanding, telling him sensational stories about herself until he falls in love with her! The implication: if satisfying a man's infantile sex fantasies is the only way to get him, it's better than being an ordinary professional woman…

Joanne Woodward plays a fashion designer who, with blonde hair and showy makeup, actually looks more uninteresting than before…

Newman plays a sportswriter whose athletics with blonds has kept him from winning the Pulitzer Prize… He's an arrogant, alcoholic ill-bred man … As usual, he has some effective lecherous looks and self-disgusted expressions, but with all the charm and the grace