THE MAN WHO LOVED WOMEN
d: Blake Edwards, 1983

26 July 2009

THE MAN WHO LOVED WOMEN is a remake of a 1977 Truffaut film of the same name. I don't know the Truffaut original. It might very well be a good film. It is, however, a given that Euro-to-Hollywood remakes are rarely a good idea. THE MAN WHO LOVED WOMEN was a particularly bad idea, badly executed.

At the time THE MAN WHO LOVED WOMEN was made, Burt Reynolds the celebrity had the public persona of an irresistable ladies' man. THE MAN WHO LOVED WOMEN plays off that image by making him a chronically depressed - but inexplicably, still very succesful - ladies' man. David Fowler, the character, stares off into space, mumbles, and otherwise displays anti-Burt Reynolds characteristics throughout the film. His most active mode of approach to women is to stalk them. Yet we see a lot of skinny 30s-ish L.A. women in Spandex throwing themselves at David Fowler, for no apparant reason.

Whatever irony was gained by this ploy at the time is lost 25 years later, along with any reason to think women would respond to this nearly autistic, self-absorbed loser.

Did all women collectively decide one day in 1989 to stop looking like this?


"Breathe in... two... three... four! And... out!"

Remember Aerobicise?


The only reason we know David Fowler is supposed to be charming to women is that Julie Andrews tells us so, over and over again, in the gently lecturing tone of a patient schoolteacher.

If this last comment seems like a cheap shot at Julie Andrews' Mary Poppins / Maria Von Trapp past, rest assured it is nonetheless true.

I like Julie Andrews. Her public persona projects a sincerity which makes her wholesomeness seem genuine. Julie Andrews seems so genuinely nice that I almost feel guilty pointing out that she is entirely without sex appeal on screen.

Watching Julie Andrews and Burt Reynolds be romantic together is a painful experience. The lack of sexual chemistry between them is palpable.

Not that a more outwardly sexual actress could have changed anything. She's up against Burt Reynolds' tranquillized non-performance, and they are both up against the overall lifellessness of the film The film itself is sexless. In common with other Blake Edwards films of the period, the failure of the film is so complete that there's no one element to point to in blame for it.

"Ah-ha!" cries Julie Andrews at a critical point in her analysis of Burt Reynolds. "I see the problem now! You grew up in a post-AMARCORD flashback, with a proud, independent, sexually confident proto-feminist whore for a mother! Well, our hour is up. Leave your $135 with the receptionist..."

There is no reason whatsoever for this gag, nor is it staged in a manner which makes it even remotely funny. There is no dramatic need for Reynolds to be hiding - a moment later the woman he's stalking sees him, and there are no repercussions to his being seen. In fact, he ends up in bed with her later that day, after luring her to his house through completely fraudulent means. Gags like this are sprinkled through the movie at random - gags which, even if they were funny, would be major shifts of tone.

Why this or any other later Blake Edwards film is so bad remains a mystery. My guess about his films of this period is that, post-"10", they were the only kind he could get funding for, limiting him to material with which he'd been lucky in the past, but for reasons other than any real aptitude for comedy. It's a shame there couldn't have been more like EXPERIMENT IN TERROR, rather than THE MAN WHO LOVED WOMEN and A FINE MESS.