I watched this movie last night, because a) it was free On Demand, b) I was curious to see if it held up at all, and c) I have always loved Jill Clayburgh. She is one of my favorite actresses.
There were things about the movie that I found just great. Jill Clayburgh is lovely in that seventies sort of way, where actors did not look perfect. They did not look surgically enhanced. They were genuinely a pleasure to behold as they had uniqueness and individuality. They had flaws. They had teeth that had not been whitened and straightened. They looked real.
There were things that didn't held up. One moment was a particularly important scene right after Erica (Jill Clayburgh) has found out that her husband, Saul (Michael Murphy), has been unfaithful. She is walking in Manhattan. There is the most wretched saxophone stylings in full throttle, and Erica throws up in the street. It was one of those times where I could almost see the scene translate itself immediately to a Mad movie satire, and I could imagine all of the cynical dialogue balloons.
But then you have the great Michael Murphy willing to play a character without any sense of center with complete dedication. You have Alan Bates who is the romantic alternative and he plays it well. And this movie gives Erica the opportunity to have a reverie, where she imagines herself as a great ballerina. It felt very different to me than the stock moment in so many rom coms now where women will break into some choreographed moves to a pop tune for no apparent reason. This scene meant something. It was a precious moment. It spoke volumes about the character. It made me miss Jill Clayburgh even more.
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