John Malkovich and Andie McDowell, unmarried but happy, are high-living surfers on a wave of risky investments and the luxury that can come from them. They are in a fancy London hotel when Malkovich's ship not only doesn't come in; his pier collapses and they are out of money and credit. The only thing of value they own is a pint-sized bronze head of a woman by Henry Moore, which looks like something you might make in a high school art class out of papiere-maché if you happened to be drunk.
The object of beauty disappears, stolen by a poor, mute, plain-looking made to whom "it spoke." It doesn't speak to the owners, except to say "Twenty-five thousand dollars." The object of beauty is not the same as objective beauty. Tension between the lovers. Arguments. Their relationship is questioned. Finally, after much difficulty, the object of beauty is restored.
It's slow. The direction is competent and the art direction fine. A lot depends on the characters and the dialog. McDowell, Malkovich, and Lolita Davidovich meet the challenge.
It would have been a good screwball comedy from the 1930s, with maybe William Powell and Carol Lombard. But then we'd have been deprived of a lingering look at the sleeping Andie McDowell's beckoning haunch.
Diverting enough to keep you watching. And there is some wit distributed through the writing in little bits and pieces.
The object of beauty disappears, stolen by a poor, mute, plain-looking made to whom "it spoke." It doesn't speak to the owners, except to say "Twenty-five thousand dollars." The object of beauty is not the same as objective beauty. Tension between the lovers. Arguments. Their relationship is questioned. Finally, after much difficulty, the object of beauty is restored.
It's slow. The direction is competent and the art direction fine. A lot depends on the characters and the dialog. McDowell, Malkovich, and Lolita Davidovich meet the challenge.
It would have been a good screwball comedy from the 1930s, with maybe William Powell and Carol Lombard. But then we'd have been deprived of a lingering look at the sleeping Andie McDowell's beckoning haunch.
Diverting enough to keep you watching. And there is some wit distributed through the writing in little bits and pieces.