The Opposite of Sex

viewed September 12, 1999 on video

I'm not hip to the new generation of self-conscious teen sitcoms that have erupted on TV; I turned my back on TV somewhere around 10th grade and it doesn't seem right for me to return at this point in my life.  I admit to being intrigued by some of the new fall crop, especially the one on Fox with Jay Mohr; and I've heard interesting things about Get Real, which sounds slightly similar in approach to The Opposite of Sex.  However since writing these reviews in addition to watching films takes a sizeable chunk out of my day, my time left to dilly-dally with the remote control is compromised. 

Anyway, to this movie: a remarkable cast, each member of which exceeds my expectations of them, especially a wonderfully nuanced Lisa Kudrow who demonstrates exceptional comic timing.  She's like a leaner, meaner Teri Garr. Her hesitations when delivering an embittered witticism are slow to come out, utterly natural -- it seems that every time she mutters one, it takes a bite out of her as well.  Martin Donovan is wonderfully subtle and treats all of his terrific scenes with the same sense of hapless determination to do right by others. 

Counterbalancing these steadies are the younger cast members: Christina Ricci has really grown into her own actress, precocious and tenacious, who in this movie rages an embittered battle with her own sense of humanity.  The image of her towards the end, a bloated, pregnant little monster, is a real image to behold -- but we know her too well by that point to hate her.  Her performance in this movie isn't what we'd call conventional; she actually has relatively  few scenes of dialogue with others; basically her performance can be broken down between voice-overs and sheer presence when she appears on screen.  And as her wacky scheme comes to a head, she is still capable of bringing out the pathos when her moment of breakdown arrives.  Ivan Sergei comes off as the poor man's Brendan Fraser, and handles himself capably as a well-meaning lunkhead. 

What's great about the script is that virtually every character gets a scene in which another side to them is revealed, without being overly dramatic.  Credit Don Roos' ultra-hip but well-grounded script and a deadpan directing job that keeps the sensationalism of the storyline in check.  The most interesting thing about Roos' script is how Ricci's Deedee is placed in omniscience as the narrator, conveniently siding us with her, but is gradually counterbalanced by the sensibleness of the older characters in their scenes.  It's a real neat trick to follow.

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