When a Man Loves a Woman works as almost a rom-com in reverse, in which husband and wife begin madly in love but slowly realise they are wrong for each other. It is easy to bring two strangers together; it is harder to admit that they must part. The opening is posed like any conventional romance. They seem to 'meet-cute' in a bar, with eyes only for each other. There isn't only a spark but a blazing inferno, as she straddles him right there and then while some poor schmuck sips his drink quietly. When it's revealed they are married, that is merely another sign of the strength of their blissful relationship, so in love that they still play games with each other. But she is an alcoholic.
If you saw Addicted to Love you would have thought Meg Ryan could never make the transition into the darkier, edgier roles, but here she isn't playing a caricature, but a real mother and human being who hides her darkness, stashes it away in bottles. Her character is a twist on the usual Meg Ryan figure, blonde and full of laughter, at least until she has a drink. The performance feels lived in because of how easily and quietly she is able to deflect and shift blame when hard questions are directed at her. During their holiday in Mexico, paradise in the pool, she grips her husband tightly, spins him around, and attempts to will the problem away. Blink and you'll miss how effortlessly Alice turns Michael's accusations back onto him, by confessing that during long flights away from home she replaces him with a bottle. Or two, or three.
But the movie breaks new ground when Alice returns from rehab sober, and suddenly the relationship is no longer defined by her alcoholic status and the role of Michael as the one picking her back up. A more conventional plot would have placed this objective at the end of the film, have it be their salvation and pave the way for a happier future. But Mandoki knows that sometimes one addiction can hide harder truths, and positions its exit to reveal ugly secrets about the imbalance of their marriage. There is a scene right after Michael returns from his first AA meeting that establishes both their perspectives perfectly, and how their opinions on drinkers could not be anymore different. Watch how their dialogue starts with little jabs at each other and then spirals into words designed to wound; watch how Andy Garci explodes and splatters a portrait of a man whose pride and ego has been bruised at the thought of not being enough for his wife. And Alice in turn weeps because she can't make him see that her sins might not be so easy to make amends for.
All this and more is spelt out to the audience in the conclusion, where the film goes all Notting Hill on us and narrates in two powerful monologues that nevertheless feel as if each character is tripping over to get their apologies in. Having bared their souls, they hastily patch things up and are entwined once again in a kiss over the credits. The whole thing stinks of executive meddling, as if the head honchos realised that both leads had discovered something deep and uncomfortable about their lives, and were scared of not having this resolved by the final shot. If the film is brave for allowing its romantic pair to admit their faults, it could have been even braver by allowing them to find their own way back.
If you saw Addicted to Love you would have thought Meg Ryan could never make the transition into the darkier, edgier roles, but here she isn't playing a caricature, but a real mother and human being who hides her darkness, stashes it away in bottles. Her character is a twist on the usual Meg Ryan figure, blonde and full of laughter, at least until she has a drink. The performance feels lived in because of how easily and quietly she is able to deflect and shift blame when hard questions are directed at her. During their holiday in Mexico, paradise in the pool, she grips her husband tightly, spins him around, and attempts to will the problem away. Blink and you'll miss how effortlessly Alice turns Michael's accusations back onto him, by confessing that during long flights away from home she replaces him with a bottle. Or two, or three.
But the movie breaks new ground when Alice returns from rehab sober, and suddenly the relationship is no longer defined by her alcoholic status and the role of Michael as the one picking her back up. A more conventional plot would have placed this objective at the end of the film, have it be their salvation and pave the way for a happier future. But Mandoki knows that sometimes one addiction can hide harder truths, and positions its exit to reveal ugly secrets about the imbalance of their marriage. There is a scene right after Michael returns from his first AA meeting that establishes both their perspectives perfectly, and how their opinions on drinkers could not be anymore different. Watch how their dialogue starts with little jabs at each other and then spirals into words designed to wound; watch how Andy Garci explodes and splatters a portrait of a man whose pride and ego has been bruised at the thought of not being enough for his wife. And Alice in turn weeps because she can't make him see that her sins might not be so easy to make amends for.
All this and more is spelt out to the audience in the conclusion, where the film goes all Notting Hill on us and narrates in two powerful monologues that nevertheless feel as if each character is tripping over to get their apologies in. Having bared their souls, they hastily patch things up and are entwined once again in a kiss over the credits. The whole thing stinks of executive meddling, as if the head honchos realised that both leads had discovered something deep and uncomfortable about their lives, and were scared of not having this resolved by the final shot. If the film is brave for allowing its romantic pair to admit their faults, it could have been even braver by allowing them to find their own way back.