It's not that the ideas in this movie are so dumb, it's just that they are so unambiguously presented. You actually notice the drama getting more subtle and complex when the brothel madam starts talking through a doll. It's too bad, because Roy Scheider really tries to make something of his part. He must have been holding his breath between takes because he has the expression of a man performing a field autopsy. Paul Schrader should re-write this lurid chewathon for Jimmy Smits. There's an actor who can spin gold out of lint.
Review of The Men's Club
