A Illusion review by Joan Ellis.
At last, some laughs. The humor of "The First Wives Club,"
missiles from the mouths of Diane Keaton, Bette Midler, and Goldie
Hawn, a fusillade of observations on the state of middle-aged
women who have been dumped for younger, newer goods, explodes on
the screen. So sharp is their delivery that even the film's many
flaws vanish–almost.
About two-thirds of the way through, the writers lose their
steam and let the movie flounder while they try to wrap up the
threads of their plot–an entirely unnecessary effort given the
good time the audience is having without any plot at all.
During this lull, the actors tilt from conversational
bull's-eyes to slapstick–too much mugging. In defense of the
writers, it's doubtful that anyone could have kept up the initial
pace of the parries that had the theater rolling with laughter.
And to their credit, they recover for a stylish ending.
Three college pals reunite at the funeral of a fourth and
trade tales of marital woe over drinks. All have been sent over
the side by preening husbands looking for a young thing to
flatter them, someone who knows them not as they are, but how
they manage to appear to be. Suddenly, the men sport spiffy
clothes, new hairstyles, an earring, a sports car, an ornament on
the arm–it's a male face-lift without the scalpel.
Movie star Elise (Goldie Hawn), whose husband has taken up
with an anorexic plastic doll on the make, has one foot in the
70s, courtesy of plastic surgery, and one in the 90s, courtesy of
a young screenwriter who offers her the "grotesque mother" role
in his horror film. When her doctor responds to her fears about
finding a new lover by saying, "A woman your age has a better
chance of getting slaughtered by a psychopath," and refuses to
inject more silicone in her lips, she barks, "Fill 'em up!"
Brenda (Bette Midler), "a woman with her own aisle in the
supermarket," uses her mouth as an assault weapon to spray venom
about husband Morty's immersion in the trappings of male
menopause.
Annie (Diane Keaton), playing the devoted wife who erased
herself along the way, is searching in vain for her own identity.
No matter what the circumstances, an apology is always the first
thing out of her mouth. When her friends coax her to the point
of responding from strength, she manages, after a few false
starts, to burst forth with real rage.
If all this sounds tame on the page, believe that, in the
theater, Hawn, Midler, and Keaton, the three old pros, deliver
the icy lines with the energy of a tornado. The writers have
given them plenty to deliver. They take all the terrible
thoughts we suppress in the name of being charitable, stoic,
brave, and enduring, dip them in acid, and hurl them into the
audience. Judging from the laughter, these heat-seeking missiles
are finding their targets.
Film Critic : JOAN ELLIS
Word Count : 495
Studio : Paramount
Rating : PG
Running Time: 1h40m
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