There isn't much new in the idea. Two women, both hungry, living alone. A handyman comes in. He does both of them. One, in the course of an unrelated subplot, knifes a man to death and is sent to jail, carrying the handyman's baby. After a year or so, she gets out and is reunited with the handyman, her baby, and the other woman -- happily, it seems. Yet the plot is more original than you might expect. What you might expect is a pretty but excessively shy woman who finds love at the end with the humble Mellors, I mean the humble Byrne. But it's not that. It's not "David and Lisa" either. It's better than that.
What I kind of like about it is mostly the acting. Barbara Hershey is glamorized and stunning. And Debra Winger gives her character a real life of her own. Man, is she homely. She wears thick glasses, has her hair tied back like the head of a mop, wears no makeup, and pinches her lips together and twitches from time to time. It's the kind of performance -- playing an inadequate socially challenged semi-loony -- that wins Academy Awards.
At the same time it's more difficult to play a person with a touch of simple schizophrenia than it is to play an autistic or someone who has cerebral palsy or is considerably retarded. Winger's unadorned illness is characterized mainly by an inability to groom herself attractively and a social clumsiness that is characteristic of schizophrenia. What she has, and what most schizophrenics don't, is an emotional depth, a resonance with others. She may be constantly frazzled but she's capable of loving deeply.
And I appreciated Gabriel Byrne's character and performance too. A by-the-numbers route here would have brought in a ruggedly handsome, perfectly gorgeous, virile, flawless guy, brimming with danger and testosterone. Instead the movie gives us Gabe Byrne. Yes, he's a kind of ne'er do well and a rogue but he's not Vigo Mortenson or Brad Pitt. His face looks as if it's been molded out of candle wax that has begun to melt. He gets drunk just about every night and can't hold a job. He admits he's a lying thief. And -- for this I was particularly grateful -- he never ONCE takes off his shirt and shows us his sweaty chest while splitting logs or, er, plowing a field.
One night, drunk, he stumbles into Winger's little bungalow. He's filled with remorse, poses her as a priest in a confessional, asks her, "Are you Catholic? Ah, never mind, you don't know what the **** I'm talking about anyway." Then he begs this rudely shaped lump of clay for absolution and weeps in her lap before kissing her. (Her first time, we don't doubt.) She's alternately charmed and horrified.
The language and the sex are fairly explicit. The sex includes masturbation, defloration, and -- well, normal intercourse, I guess, if the definition is extended to include coupling on a floor full of broken crockery with one of the partners so deliriously drunk that she believes the man is someone else.
It's nicely directed too. No razzle-dazzle. No, "Hey, Ma, look at me! I got a camera!" Just one or two shots involving a pair of eyeglasses draw attention to themselves. The rest is very efficiently done. When Strathairn dies, he does so in a most unexpected way, stabbed multiple times, and whining about, "Hey, what did you do to me." There's blood all over the place, as there should be when someone is bleeding to death, but not a single shot of a knife piercing flesh. And his killer reassuring him as he expires, "It's okay. It's okay." She can't dial 911 because she can't find her glasses.
The end is a little disturbing if you bother to think about it. After all, Debra Winger has stabbed a guy to death over some squabble at her workplace. "A Dangerous Woman" is right. And it appears that Byrne is finally going to make an honest woman out of her. I hope she never gets mad at HIM.
The photography is very nicely done. I don't know where it was shot but it looks a bit like the Coachella Valley in California. Nice ranch house. Nice lines of fruit-bearing trees in the orchards. Mountains all around. Fan palms. The Garden of Eden with humans in it.
What I kind of like about it is mostly the acting. Barbara Hershey is glamorized and stunning. And Debra Winger gives her character a real life of her own. Man, is she homely. She wears thick glasses, has her hair tied back like the head of a mop, wears no makeup, and pinches her lips together and twitches from time to time. It's the kind of performance -- playing an inadequate socially challenged semi-loony -- that wins Academy Awards.
At the same time it's more difficult to play a person with a touch of simple schizophrenia than it is to play an autistic or someone who has cerebral palsy or is considerably retarded. Winger's unadorned illness is characterized mainly by an inability to groom herself attractively and a social clumsiness that is characteristic of schizophrenia. What she has, and what most schizophrenics don't, is an emotional depth, a resonance with others. She may be constantly frazzled but she's capable of loving deeply.
And I appreciated Gabriel Byrne's character and performance too. A by-the-numbers route here would have brought in a ruggedly handsome, perfectly gorgeous, virile, flawless guy, brimming with danger and testosterone. Instead the movie gives us Gabe Byrne. Yes, he's a kind of ne'er do well and a rogue but he's not Vigo Mortenson or Brad Pitt. His face looks as if it's been molded out of candle wax that has begun to melt. He gets drunk just about every night and can't hold a job. He admits he's a lying thief. And -- for this I was particularly grateful -- he never ONCE takes off his shirt and shows us his sweaty chest while splitting logs or, er, plowing a field.
One night, drunk, he stumbles into Winger's little bungalow. He's filled with remorse, poses her as a priest in a confessional, asks her, "Are you Catholic? Ah, never mind, you don't know what the **** I'm talking about anyway." Then he begs this rudely shaped lump of clay for absolution and weeps in her lap before kissing her. (Her first time, we don't doubt.) She's alternately charmed and horrified.
The language and the sex are fairly explicit. The sex includes masturbation, defloration, and -- well, normal intercourse, I guess, if the definition is extended to include coupling on a floor full of broken crockery with one of the partners so deliriously drunk that she believes the man is someone else.
It's nicely directed too. No razzle-dazzle. No, "Hey, Ma, look at me! I got a camera!" Just one or two shots involving a pair of eyeglasses draw attention to themselves. The rest is very efficiently done. When Strathairn dies, he does so in a most unexpected way, stabbed multiple times, and whining about, "Hey, what did you do to me." There's blood all over the place, as there should be when someone is bleeding to death, but not a single shot of a knife piercing flesh. And his killer reassuring him as he expires, "It's okay. It's okay." She can't dial 911 because she can't find her glasses.
The end is a little disturbing if you bother to think about it. After all, Debra Winger has stabbed a guy to death over some squabble at her workplace. "A Dangerous Woman" is right. And it appears that Byrne is finally going to make an honest woman out of her. I hope she never gets mad at HIM.
The photography is very nicely done. I don't know where it was shot but it looks a bit like the Coachella Valley in California. Nice ranch house. Nice lines of fruit-bearing trees in the orchards. Mountains all around. Fan palms. The Garden of Eden with humans in it.