Sex and the S1ngle Girl
Based on a non-fiction book, Sex and the S1ngle Girl details the complicated relationship that ensues between a brash magazine writer (Tony Curtis’ Bob Weston) and a young psychologist (Natalie Wood’s Helen Brown) – with Bob’s decision to adopt the guise of a close friend (Henry Fonda’s Frank) during his talks with Helen paving the way for a second half rife with comedic misunderstandings. It’s an agreeably lighthearted setup that is, for the most part, employed to sluggish and underwhelming effect by Richard Quine, as the filmmaker, working from Joseph Heller and David R. Schwartz’s screenplay, delivers a slow-moving and generally laugh-free comedy that’s rarely as much fun as one might’ve anticipated – which is a shame, certainly, given that Quine has admittedly elicited strong work from his various performers. (Although Wood never seems entirely comfortable with the fluffy material, Curtis and Fonda deliver remarkably loose and engaging work here that remains a rare bright spot within the proceedings.) The momentum-free midsection prevents the viewer from working up the slightest bit of enthusiasm for the protagonists’ wacky exploits (and it’s impossible, certainly, to muster up a rooting interest in Bob and Helen’s coupling), with the comparatively engaging third act, devoted to several appreciatively broad car chases, unable to subsequently pack the satisfying punch that Quine has obviously intended – thus cementing Sex and the S1ngle Girl‘s place as a disappointing misfire that could (and should) have been so much better. (Why, for example, does the film run a sporadically punishing 114 minutes?)
** out of ****
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