Atrocious

Hard to believe this film is based on a Broadway play. Its inanity and predictability are more akin to the TV “entertainment” of that era. Streisand is miscast as the screeching, slutty virago Doris - she gives an unusually tiresome performance - and Segal does nothing unexpected as the nerdy Felix. But what can one do with lines, meant to be climactic, like Segal’s about his typewriter: “It was either him or me. The son of a bitch nearly killed me.”

We get the whole film within two minutes of their meeting early on: she’s unschooled, potty-mouthed and always yelling; he’s bookish, nebbishy and always trying to control her. The hilarity meant to ensue never does. Topping the plot off with the characters’ embracing a new-found honesty, and each other, doesn’t help. It’s just as contrived and wretched as everything else.

I did enjoy glimpses of Manhattan back in the day – especially the Doubleday’s at 53rd & Fifth, where I used to shop. And the relentless, gross fag and fairy jokes made me grateful to live in an age where homophobia is no longer acceptable.