Frankly, I didn't like either Elliot Gould or Diane Keaton in this 70's marital comedy where they try to fix a broken marriage through her idea of "togetherness" that has them basically Inseparable and her threatening to end the marriage even if he thinks so much as to go to a baseball game with his colleagues. They try it for a few weeks with few issues, and a few of those scene are amusing, but after a while, her expectations begin to get out of control and his temperament begins to rise. There's opera singing attorney Paul Sorvino and sexpot neighbor Victoria Principal, a former Playboy centerfold who happens to be married. She claims that she's about to be separated, but does husband Warren Berlinger really want that?
Another 70's sex comedy with a forgettable title song that you are forced to hear over and over, a neurotic wife and a potentially philandering husband. The problem is it's been done before and after and better, and the two stars just don't gel on-screen. Fortunately for Keaton, Woody Allen was just around the corner, but for Gould, overexposure had his career on the downswing in duds like this. Veteran comedy film writer and director Norman Panama seems to out of touch to really handle subject matter like this, and the discussions of their sex life is more embarrassing than funny.
George Tyne and Robert Alda don't really add much as the therapists, those sessions making you feel like you're eavesdropping, and this was the first time in a film where vintage New York City location footage couldn't save it. The film gets even more bizarre when they end up in California at a sex therapy resort, and you begin to wonder if the writers of this and other comedies were saying that since adults can't act mature and responsible that they might as well enjoy their maturing you're still acting like children. A ridiculous if on occasion only so slightly amusing film, this will test your patience to see if you could make it through it.
Another 70's sex comedy with a forgettable title song that you are forced to hear over and over, a neurotic wife and a potentially philandering husband. The problem is it's been done before and after and better, and the two stars just don't gel on-screen. Fortunately for Keaton, Woody Allen was just around the corner, but for Gould, overexposure had his career on the downswing in duds like this. Veteran comedy film writer and director Norman Panama seems to out of touch to really handle subject matter like this, and the discussions of their sex life is more embarrassing than funny.
George Tyne and Robert Alda don't really add much as the therapists, those sessions making you feel like you're eavesdropping, and this was the first time in a film where vintage New York City location footage couldn't save it. The film gets even more bizarre when they end up in California at a sex therapy resort, and you begin to wonder if the writers of this and other comedies were saying that since adults can't act mature and responsible that they might as well enjoy their maturing you're still acting like children. A ridiculous if on occasion only so slightly amusing film, this will test your patience to see if you could make it through it.