This was written by Neil Simon but is more loose-limbed and subtle than most of his other work. It was directed efficiently by Elaine May and her daughter, Jeanne Berlin, has a prominent role as Charles Grodin's bride. They are in ecstasy, dancing to the tunes of Burt Bacharach. Both are bourgeois but differences soon emerge when they take off for their honeymoon in Miami. She pulls down her bodice and playfully bares her boobs to him while he's trying to drive on the crowded interstate. "STOP it, the TRUCK drivers will see!" She sulks a little.
This is clearly Neil Simon territory, two slightly mismatched people, as in "The Odd Couple," only with far more nuance, as it develops.
Grodin is conventionally handsome and young, while Berlin has more interesting characteristics. She's plumper than usual (too many Milky Ways) and she has strong, fleshy, attractive features. She is matronly towards Grodin and loving, too. Her voice is so nasal that it might make a good, irritating whine, but she speaks so slowly and mellifluously that her tone is endearing.
The morning after their first night as a couple, they have breakfast in the attached motel restaurant. He eats his hamburger delicately, like a surgeon. She orders a double egg salad sandwich and a chocolate shake and smears everything all over her lips while Grodin stares aghast. "Want a bite?", she asks, offering him the half-eaten sandwich. And, "Leonard, look around. There's us in fifty years, isn't it?" Grodin looks over his shoulder to see a wizened, stooped old man trying to help his gnome-like wife into her coat. It's already funny and it's hardly begun. The film turns her into a repellent figure, covers her bright red body with cold cream and odium.
Maybe it should have stuck with that one relationship -- Grodin and Berlin -- because half way through, Grodin falls for. Cybil Shepherd, the summum bonum of femininity, full of confidence, cute little quirks, and stunning. She's rich, she's beautiful, she's flirtatious, she has a perfect figure, she's indifferent, and she's a shiksa named Kelly. He bumps into her on the beach. You ought to see Miami Beach in the winter -- hardly a soul who isn't eligible for membership in AARP, wobbling stiffly about, retired, gray-haired, wrinkled, flabby, and brown. No kids. I take the caricature to be deliberate, another reminder of what Grodin and Berlin will be like in "forty or fifty years." Now the story takes us from Grodin feeling superior to Berlin, to Shepherd's Aryan Minnesota family and their goyim naches. Now HE gets to feel demeaned. The story is like a sandwich with a double filling of egg-salad humiliation and, while it's funny, it sort of disjoints the whole movie.
The head of Kelly Corcoran's family is the very rich and anti-Semitic Eddie Albert, who is obnoxious throughout. But one of his friends is William Prince (the pharmacist's mate in "Destination Tokyo") whom I've always like because he and I share the same alma mater. Grodin dumps Berlin, gives her everything, and heads after Shepherd to Minneapolis, where he visits Kelly's house and her father threatens to kill him if he ever shows up again. Worse, Shepherd has almost forgotten him and now has no time for him because she's late for an English Lit class. The flirtation in Florida that she's laughed off, Grodin took seriously. It's like Bruno and Guy in Hitchcock's "Strangers on a Train." Shepherd, quite unconvincingly, changes her attitude after a brief conversation. At their marriage reception, Grodin finds himself talking to wealthy businessmen who manufacture tear gas. He's polite but not interested. Finally, he's isolated on a couch with only two ten-year olds listening to him before they too leave, out of boredom. Grodin sits alone, humming Burt Bacharach to himself, and we have little idea of where this is all headed. He's young, resourceful, and innovative, but alternately determined and then so impulsive we can doubt that he has functioning frontal lobes. Or he could go mad and start screaming at any moment.
This is clearly Neil Simon territory, two slightly mismatched people, as in "The Odd Couple," only with far more nuance, as it develops.
Grodin is conventionally handsome and young, while Berlin has more interesting characteristics. She's plumper than usual (too many Milky Ways) and she has strong, fleshy, attractive features. She is matronly towards Grodin and loving, too. Her voice is so nasal that it might make a good, irritating whine, but she speaks so slowly and mellifluously that her tone is endearing.
The morning after their first night as a couple, they have breakfast in the attached motel restaurant. He eats his hamburger delicately, like a surgeon. She orders a double egg salad sandwich and a chocolate shake and smears everything all over her lips while Grodin stares aghast. "Want a bite?", she asks, offering him the half-eaten sandwich. And, "Leonard, look around. There's us in fifty years, isn't it?" Grodin looks over his shoulder to see a wizened, stooped old man trying to help his gnome-like wife into her coat. It's already funny and it's hardly begun. The film turns her into a repellent figure, covers her bright red body with cold cream and odium.
Maybe it should have stuck with that one relationship -- Grodin and Berlin -- because half way through, Grodin falls for. Cybil Shepherd, the summum bonum of femininity, full of confidence, cute little quirks, and stunning. She's rich, she's beautiful, she's flirtatious, she has a perfect figure, she's indifferent, and she's a shiksa named Kelly. He bumps into her on the beach. You ought to see Miami Beach in the winter -- hardly a soul who isn't eligible for membership in AARP, wobbling stiffly about, retired, gray-haired, wrinkled, flabby, and brown. No kids. I take the caricature to be deliberate, another reminder of what Grodin and Berlin will be like in "forty or fifty years." Now the story takes us from Grodin feeling superior to Berlin, to Shepherd's Aryan Minnesota family and their goyim naches. Now HE gets to feel demeaned. The story is like a sandwich with a double filling of egg-salad humiliation and, while it's funny, it sort of disjoints the whole movie.
The head of Kelly Corcoran's family is the very rich and anti-Semitic Eddie Albert, who is obnoxious throughout. But one of his friends is William Prince (the pharmacist's mate in "Destination Tokyo") whom I've always like because he and I share the same alma mater. Grodin dumps Berlin, gives her everything, and heads after Shepherd to Minneapolis, where he visits Kelly's house and her father threatens to kill him if he ever shows up again. Worse, Shepherd has almost forgotten him and now has no time for him because she's late for an English Lit class. The flirtation in Florida that she's laughed off, Grodin took seriously. It's like Bruno and Guy in Hitchcock's "Strangers on a Train." Shepherd, quite unconvincingly, changes her attitude after a brief conversation. At their marriage reception, Grodin finds himself talking to wealthy businessmen who manufacture tear gas. He's polite but not interested. Finally, he's isolated on a couch with only two ten-year olds listening to him before they too leave, out of boredom. Grodin sits alone, humming Burt Bacharach to himself, and we have little idea of where this is all headed. He's young, resourceful, and innovative, but alternately determined and then so impulsive we can doubt that he has functioning frontal lobes. Or he could go mad and start screaming at any moment.