In 1979, I was 14, and I can remember that this was the big movie that all the kids at school wanted to see. I actually remember loving it then. Years later, all I can do at the age of 37 is cringe with embarrassment that I actually still like this thing.
How unrealistic can you get? With the exception of some make up and hair manipulation, there really is no difference between the Nancy and Marie faces. Most of the change is effected through Quinlin's acting ability (as well suddenly changing her wardrobe to the 70's disco chic that was popular at the time). It's not the only lapse in reality in the film, but it's by far the biggest. It takes a great deal of work on the part of Quinlan, Collins, and Straight to get you to come anywhere near believing the difference exists.
Laurence Luckinbill plays a truly predictable character as the Pygmalionesque doctor who creates the physical Marie. His character is more or less a plot device (as is Bibi Besch's), and his performance reflects it. On the other hand, Beatrice Straight (who was always one of the most underrated actresses in the business) gives a fantastic performance as Michael's mother. Her face says it all when she runs out of the hospital room and the impact of the lie that she has just told hits her.
Gibert Cates, who unfortunately has not been able to truly repeat his critical success in "I Never Sang for my Father", at least tries to do something with the script. It is hard, however, when the story is basically formula and schmaltz. In the end, it is Quinlan, Collins, and Straight who succeed in getting the film to rise above it. Their performances get you to continue to watch and find something good even though you really want to hate it.
