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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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time
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073189
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07318900.045
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1990-09-17
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CINEMA, Page 65When Humor Meets HeartbreakTwo splendid comedies get back to basics: talk and sexBy Richard Corliss
Talk is the sex of the '80s. In a time when you can hardly
initiate a handshake without a note from your doctor, conversation
is not just a white-collar mating dance; it is the most intimate
form of safe sex. Over the telephone or a restaurant table, a man
and a woman expose their emotions, exchange seminal fears and
desires, make each other laugh and sob -- all without touching any
organ but the heart. Talk is the consummation devoutly to be
wished; no wonder they call it intercourse. It is confession
without penance, therapy on the cheap. It is also, in the right
mouths, the last civilized popular art.
Wit, conflict, a little sex. Good stuff for a movie? Good
enough for a pair of terrific movies: When Harry Met Sally...,
written by Nora Ephron and directed by Rob Reiner; and sex, lies,
and videotape, written and directed by Steven Soderbergh. Their
characters are quick and engaging; they could be the
thirtysomething folks on a good day, in a gilded mirror. As Ephron
says, "People who live in cities aren't in car chases. We don't get
shot at. What we mainly do is talk on the phone and have dinner."
Her film and sex, lies serve up the urban scene at its most urbane.
Clean taxis and great apartments appear in a trice, and no one's
upscale job deprives him of quality time for soul scratching. But
in both films the surface prettiness is just a device; it clears
the cityscape of its daily detritus to focus on what matters: love,
sex and friendship.
When Ephron met Reiner to discuss a script, she recalls, the
director said, "I want to do a movie about two people who become
friends and are really happy they become friends because they
realize that if they had had sex it would have ruined everything.
And they have sex and it ruins everything." Start with randy Harry
(Billy Crystal) and precise Sally (Meg Ryan) in the Manhattan of
your dreams, at the beginning of a beautiful friendship. But are
they aware that falling in like can be as dangerous as falling in
love? Reiner, who based the film partly on his life after being
divorced from actress Penny Marshall, thinks he knows: "People say,
`Vive la difference,' but it's more like a cruel joke created by
God. Men and women desperately want to be with each other, but at
the same time they can't stand each other and don't understand each
other."
So Harry and Sally go to movies together, confide romantic
traumas, even try double-dating with their respective best friends
(funny Bruno Kirby and Carrie Fisher) -- all the while fending off
the inevitable erotic attraction. When they do surrender sexually,
it is just what Harry feared. "The `during' part was good," he
admits. But postcoitally, while she glows, he glowers. He realizes
that as friends they had been making love, with words and caring.
Going to bed with Sally was just having sex. And now, like any guy
who got what he came for, he wants out.
Like Harry and Sally, the movie is hardworking, spot on; it
winepresses its conversation into epigrams. No surprise here.
Reiner found wayward comedy in such genres as the rock documentary
(This Is Spinal Tap) and the historical romance (The Princess
Bride). Crystal, the improv master who is Reiner's closest friend
-- "We finish each other's sentences," Crystal says, "and he
finishes my lunch" -- meets the challenge of making a compulsive
Lothario not just likable but impishly seductive. And Ephron, a
helpful Heloise of emotional heartburn, perks the script with
clever answers to modern problems. How long should a man hold a
woman after making love to her? "Somewhere between 30 seconds and
all night." What doubt nags at any woman who lets Mr. Right get
away? "You'll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that
someone else is married to your husband." What is the guilty secret
of married life? "No sex."
No sex? No problem. In sex, lies, and videotape, Soderbergh
suggests that abstinence makes the heart grow fonder. Ann (Andie
MacDowell) is a Baton Rouge, La., housewife too decorous to go mad.
Things with her lawyer husband John (Peter Gallagher) are fine, she
tells her therapist, "except I'm havin' this feeling that I don't
want him to touch me." They haven't had sex for a while. At least
Ann hasn't; John is pursuing an affair with her lubricious sister
Cynthia (Laura San Giacomo). Curiosity is about the only thing that
can be aroused in gentle Ann, and when John's chum Graham (James
Spader) visits, she and he swap secrets. Hers: "I think that sex
is overrated." His: "I'm impotent." They could be a couple for the
'90s: the first postsexual lovers.
To describe the plot -- in which we learn that Graham can reach
sexual climax only while watching videotapes he has made of women's
carnal confessions -- is to make sex, lies sound like a smirking
stag reel. But this is not an "adult film" in the X-rated sense;
it is an adult film, "patient and subtle," in its creator's apt
words. It is about men who use women by watching them, and women
tired of being the object of satyric attention. What amazes is that
at just 26, Soderbergh displays the three qualities associated with
mature filmmakers: a unique authorial voice, a spooky camera
assurance, and the easy control of ensemble acting (Andie
MacDowell, start polishing your acceptance speech). Soderbergh
delivers so much and promises even more.
The directors of both pictures know the risk these days in
mining the movie tradition of sophisticated comedy-drama that
stretches from Midnight to Manhattan and Broadcast News. Before
sex, lies earned raves at the U.S. Film Festival in Park City,
Utah, and then won the top prize at Cannes, Soderbergh was
apprehensive. "I thought the film would seem too European for an
American audience," he says, "and too dialogue heavy to translate
in Europe. I figured ten people would go see it four times, and
that would be that." Reiner, a man Ephron describes as being "very
fond of his depressions," dared to commit some small optimism on
his happy set. As Meg Ryan recalls, "Rob said, `Wouldn't it be
amazing to have this kind of experience, make a great movie, and
have people come to see it?'"
Now people have the chance to see two comedies that waft like
zephyrs through a movie summer humid with macho derring-do. In
their world, romance is bruised but blooming; and the characters
are so fully drawn that the moviegoer can become possessive of
them, even judgmental, as he would with a friend. Would Sally have
faked a fortissimo orgasm in a crowded restaurant? Would footloose
Graham come back to Baton Rouge to find a love he lost nine years
before? Of course they are not real people, and the difference is
crucial in this talk-as-sex era. Real people talk back, act up,
walk out. So let's leave the trend where it belongs: onscreen, in
the season's smartest, funniest real-love films.