Well, it's not really much of a mystery. Most viewers probably won't care much who killed the dentist. That's not the point anyway. The point is to skewer the profession-ridden bedroom communities of Nassau County, Long Island, New York. They're all upper middle class. The families live in sizable comfortable homes with terrible prints on the walls and beds the dimensions of Olympic swimming pools. The husbands, at least those mentioned, are corporate lawyers, periodontists, and pediatric surgeons. The wives are all bored and almost all of them are balling the womanizing dentist, Joe Mantegna, when they're not keeping trim at the local gym. The kids have names like "Tiffany." Susan Sarandon is one of the wives who isn't doing Mantegna, but she is bored. Her two children are taken care of, her husband spends all his time working, and Sarandon wants to get back into the journalism she left seven years ago to raise a family. Newsday won't hire her but she decides to freelance by doing a story on Mantegna's murder.
With Sarandon as the audience proxy, we get to know the neighbors and the handsome police lieutenant, Raul Julia, of the soulful eyes. It's the neighbors and friends who provide the chief source of humor. Sarandon herself, no wimp, is the wide-eyed innocent trying to be polite as she interviews one or another of the many women that the dentist has been taking to the motel and keeping a Polaroid record of them -- tied up, masked, and so on, a little dental peccadillo.
There is no nudity or simulated sex and, I think, only one or two pecks on the cheek between Sarandon and her neglectful husband, Edward Hermann, but much of the humor is pretty raunchy. Let me highlight some points of particular amusement.
At the dentist's funeral, the Rabbi gives the eulogy in a crowded room. As he goes on about the many virtues of Mantegna, the sniffling and sobbing become louder. Sarandon looks around and notices that all the crying is done by the local housewives. I don't have to explain the gag, do I? Sarandon is chatting with her earthy friend, Judith Ivey, about the dentist's murder and wonders out loud why anyone would kill him. Could it be one of his girl friends? But what motive would she have? "Maybe he wouldn't go down on her," replies Ivey. "That's a little excessive, don't you think?" And Ivey says, "I most definitely do not." When Sarandon visits the dentist's wife for an interview, she's invited to sit in what must be the world's least comfortable chair, made all of knobby wood, with the back rest shaped like a menorah. Sarandon is no sooner seated than the German shepherd, Prince, makes a beeline for her crotch.
I won't go on about this light-hearted look at homicide. There are a few moments of tension at the end but they're dismissible. The main weakness in the plot is the feminist theme that runs through Sarandon's increasingly abrasive encounters with her husband. He's a total Neanderthal. "You're not a JOURNALIST, you're a WIFE and a MOTHER!" (The plot has him shouting a lot as he tries to stifle Sarandon's attempts at self realization.) Somebody lost his or her sense of humor somewhere. Frank Perry's direction is professional. He holds on the jokes just long enough and has the characters standing in the right places. Judith Ivey, the raunchiest of the characters, has some lines that are funny because they're shocking. But Susan Sarandon is an outstanding actress. Her features and her figure, that have appeared in so many dramatic movies, seem to be made for comedy. She and the director put them to good use in this diverting fake mystery.
With Sarandon as the audience proxy, we get to know the neighbors and the handsome police lieutenant, Raul Julia, of the soulful eyes. It's the neighbors and friends who provide the chief source of humor. Sarandon herself, no wimp, is the wide-eyed innocent trying to be polite as she interviews one or another of the many women that the dentist has been taking to the motel and keeping a Polaroid record of them -- tied up, masked, and so on, a little dental peccadillo.
There is no nudity or simulated sex and, I think, only one or two pecks on the cheek between Sarandon and her neglectful husband, Edward Hermann, but much of the humor is pretty raunchy. Let me highlight some points of particular amusement.
At the dentist's funeral, the Rabbi gives the eulogy in a crowded room. As he goes on about the many virtues of Mantegna, the sniffling and sobbing become louder. Sarandon looks around and notices that all the crying is done by the local housewives. I don't have to explain the gag, do I? Sarandon is chatting with her earthy friend, Judith Ivey, about the dentist's murder and wonders out loud why anyone would kill him. Could it be one of his girl friends? But what motive would she have? "Maybe he wouldn't go down on her," replies Ivey. "That's a little excessive, don't you think?" And Ivey says, "I most definitely do not." When Sarandon visits the dentist's wife for an interview, she's invited to sit in what must be the world's least comfortable chair, made all of knobby wood, with the back rest shaped like a menorah. Sarandon is no sooner seated than the German shepherd, Prince, makes a beeline for her crotch.
I won't go on about this light-hearted look at homicide. There are a few moments of tension at the end but they're dismissible. The main weakness in the plot is the feminist theme that runs through Sarandon's increasingly abrasive encounters with her husband. He's a total Neanderthal. "You're not a JOURNALIST, you're a WIFE and a MOTHER!" (The plot has him shouting a lot as he tries to stifle Sarandon's attempts at self realization.) Somebody lost his or her sense of humor somewhere. Frank Perry's direction is professional. He holds on the jokes just long enough and has the characters standing in the right places. Judith Ivey, the raunchiest of the characters, has some lines that are funny because they're shocking. But Susan Sarandon is an outstanding actress. Her features and her figure, that have appeared in so many dramatic movies, seem to be made for comedy. She and the director put them to good use in this diverting fake mystery.