Rich old Carl Reiner asks his poor widowed brother, old Alan Arkin, and his son and daughter to move into a house in Beverley Hills. The daughter, whose biography this more or less is, is the blond and somewhat goofy looking Natasha Lyonne. The deal is that rich Reiner will pay the bills, but poor Arkin's family will have the responsibility of seeing to it that rich Reiner's daughter, Marisa Tomei, who is fresh out of rehab begins nursing school.
That's the set up. Poor but happy Arkin and family must care for screwed up Tomei, at Reiner's expense, in a Beverley Hills apartment in the mid-1970s.
It's colorful, amusing, racy, sometimes touching, and constitutes a series of sketches with only a fragile framework to hold them together.
But mostly it succeeds in what it's trying to do -- provide the audience with a diverting and unchallenging hour and a half. It's like watching one long Jewish joke about family rivalries and the pretensions of the rich.
The performances help immeasurably because they're all so fine. I mean everyone, with the possible exception of two or three young boys who don't have much to do except act dumb. Natasha Lyonne is the central figure, not quite cute but nubile, and her expression is generally one of resigned disbelief.
Nobody has ever been a better, more bourgeois straight man than Alan Arkin as her Dad. Jessica Walters as a wealthy widow who might consider marrying Arkin as a "companion" -- that is, chauffeur and major domo, is excellent in a supporting role. Even Rita Moreno, as rich Reiner's girl friend, has that toothy, disdainful Patrician smile down pat.
Marisa Tomei does nearly perfectly by the role of the rambunctious, pregnant, ex doper. And she has a splendid figure and brandishes it with brio. (Whew.) But not to worry. Despite the jokes about tampons and menstruation and vibrators and "getting your cherry popped", there is only brief nudity, and body doubles are used -- lamentably.
I figured it was the usual teen-aged nonsense about how hard it is to grow up -- the pain, the agony, the ontological Angst, nobody understands me -- but it's rather better than that. It has the charm of an old fairy tale.
That's the set up. Poor but happy Arkin and family must care for screwed up Tomei, at Reiner's expense, in a Beverley Hills apartment in the mid-1970s.
It's colorful, amusing, racy, sometimes touching, and constitutes a series of sketches with only a fragile framework to hold them together.
But mostly it succeeds in what it's trying to do -- provide the audience with a diverting and unchallenging hour and a half. It's like watching one long Jewish joke about family rivalries and the pretensions of the rich.
The performances help immeasurably because they're all so fine. I mean everyone, with the possible exception of two or three young boys who don't have much to do except act dumb. Natasha Lyonne is the central figure, not quite cute but nubile, and her expression is generally one of resigned disbelief.
Nobody has ever been a better, more bourgeois straight man than Alan Arkin as her Dad. Jessica Walters as a wealthy widow who might consider marrying Arkin as a "companion" -- that is, chauffeur and major domo, is excellent in a supporting role. Even Rita Moreno, as rich Reiner's girl friend, has that toothy, disdainful Patrician smile down pat.
Marisa Tomei does nearly perfectly by the role of the rambunctious, pregnant, ex doper. And she has a splendid figure and brandishes it with brio. (Whew.) But not to worry. Despite the jokes about tampons and menstruation and vibrators and "getting your cherry popped", there is only brief nudity, and body doubles are used -- lamentably.
I figured it was the usual teen-aged nonsense about how hard it is to grow up -- the pain, the agony, the ontological Angst, nobody understands me -- but it's rather better than that. It has the charm of an old fairy tale.