...littered with the corpses of competency, credibility and reason. I completely agree with the majority of comments already posted here; this is a very bad movie in every possible way, but I'll skip past the shockingly subpar directing since it's not the worst aspect of the production. (Spock, after all, helmed the best STAR TREK movie I've seen. Okay, THE VOYAGE HOME is the *only* STAR TREK movie I've seen, but it remains the highest-grosser in the series, which must mean Trekkies approved of it.)
*SPOILERS*
Let's instead consider the writing. The oddest thing about FAL is that nobody seems to notice that Gene Wilder's character is a deranged nutcase. Here's a guy who contorts his face during every conversation; makes tasteless, inappropriate, glib comments about his mother shortly after her death; cradles his girlfriend in his arms like a child with a scraped knee; and, during perhaps the strangest scene in a movie chock-full of them (this one at a fertility clinic), has apparently never masturbated before and hasn't a clue as to how to do it now. He also has a bizarre, unexplained obsession with cappuccino, which I guess is supposed to make him colorful but in reality makes him a weirdo. All of these factors makes him incapable of relating to others in any recognizable human manner, and as a result he has no romantic chemistry with either woman in his life.
Which is odd in itself, because both females also exhibit alien behavior. Christine Lahti falls for this nutball for no reason outside their shared previous failed marriages. Like, two dates and Bam! She's moving in with the guy. (Why did the movie have them live together before marriage when the ceremony directly followed the domestic cohabitation? Doesn't anyone wait until marriage before sharing a bed anymore?) She just as quickly dumps the guy, for the unpardonable sin of really, really wanting a child. These neurotics clearly deserve each other, if for no other reason than to keep these freaks out of the dating pool.
The pixieish Mary Stuart Masterson also resembles a humanoid. This is a girl who drags her boyfriend into the locker room at Madison Square Garden to have an NBA star tell him she's pregnant. Who, immediately after miscarrying, drops her boyfriend (who's twice her age) and moves across the country for some job that's presumably been waiting for her all this time. (Must be nice to be so needed in your profession right out of college.) Really, what planet are these people from? Maybe all of this is some kind of Vulcan mating ritual the director imposed on the script, for I have no other explanation.
One boring yet incomprehensible scene follows another. There are no laughs to be found, nor any real depiction of human love. Not one moment of true interaction between upscale New Yorkers. The last scene of this debacle is the phoniest of all, which had me literally groaning and rubbing my eyes. Out of nowhere a "happy" ending arrives, which is so contrived, and so poorly edited, I was, frankly, dumbfounded. In it, Wilder barges into Lahti's restaurant proclaiming his newfound outlook on having a child. He doesn't want one anymore. But, ta-da! Lahti has already adopted a baby, which is conveniently resting in a bassinet in the kitchen. Never mind the questionable practice of keeping a baby in a bustling room full of hot food and busy servers. What happens next? Group hug before Lahti takes them out to the dining room to announce to a room full with patrons, "This is my family," which is met with delighted applause. Check, please.
FUNNY ABOUT LOVE is an total embarrassment from beginning to end for everyone involved, especially Wilder. There is no reason for it to be seen other than as a study of abnormal human behavior.
p.s. If Gene was still mourning Gilda's death, why did he agree to star in a "romantic" "comedy"? A dramatic supporting role would have been more suitable.
*SPOILERS*
Let's instead consider the writing. The oddest thing about FAL is that nobody seems to notice that Gene Wilder's character is a deranged nutcase. Here's a guy who contorts his face during every conversation; makes tasteless, inappropriate, glib comments about his mother shortly after her death; cradles his girlfriend in his arms like a child with a scraped knee; and, during perhaps the strangest scene in a movie chock-full of them (this one at a fertility clinic), has apparently never masturbated before and hasn't a clue as to how to do it now. He also has a bizarre, unexplained obsession with cappuccino, which I guess is supposed to make him colorful but in reality makes him a weirdo. All of these factors makes him incapable of relating to others in any recognizable human manner, and as a result he has no romantic chemistry with either woman in his life.
Which is odd in itself, because both females also exhibit alien behavior. Christine Lahti falls for this nutball for no reason outside their shared previous failed marriages. Like, two dates and Bam! She's moving in with the guy. (Why did the movie have them live together before marriage when the ceremony directly followed the domestic cohabitation? Doesn't anyone wait until marriage before sharing a bed anymore?) She just as quickly dumps the guy, for the unpardonable sin of really, really wanting a child. These neurotics clearly deserve each other, if for no other reason than to keep these freaks out of the dating pool.
The pixieish Mary Stuart Masterson also resembles a humanoid. This is a girl who drags her boyfriend into the locker room at Madison Square Garden to have an NBA star tell him she's pregnant. Who, immediately after miscarrying, drops her boyfriend (who's twice her age) and moves across the country for some job that's presumably been waiting for her all this time. (Must be nice to be so needed in your profession right out of college.) Really, what planet are these people from? Maybe all of this is some kind of Vulcan mating ritual the director imposed on the script, for I have no other explanation.
One boring yet incomprehensible scene follows another. There are no laughs to be found, nor any real depiction of human love. Not one moment of true interaction between upscale New Yorkers. The last scene of this debacle is the phoniest of all, which had me literally groaning and rubbing my eyes. Out of nowhere a "happy" ending arrives, which is so contrived, and so poorly edited, I was, frankly, dumbfounded. In it, Wilder barges into Lahti's restaurant proclaiming his newfound outlook on having a child. He doesn't want one anymore. But, ta-da! Lahti has already adopted a baby, which is conveniently resting in a bassinet in the kitchen. Never mind the questionable practice of keeping a baby in a bustling room full of hot food and busy servers. What happens next? Group hug before Lahti takes them out to the dining room to announce to a room full with patrons, "This is my family," which is met with delighted applause. Check, please.
FUNNY ABOUT LOVE is an total embarrassment from beginning to end for everyone involved, especially Wilder. There is no reason for it to be seen other than as a study of abnormal human behavior.
p.s. If Gene was still mourning Gilda's death, why did he agree to star in a "romantic" "comedy"? A dramatic supporting role would have been more suitable.