Dreary sex comedy is a waste of talent
(12A, 104 mins)
WRITER-DIRECTOR Bill Holderman’s frothy romantic comedy stars Diane Keaton, Jane Fonda, Candice Bergen and Mary Steenburgen in underwritten roles as lifelong friends who have forgotten what it means to grow old disgracefully.
One leaf through the pages of EL James’ erotic thriller Fifty Shades Of Grey, the chosen text for a monthly book club, and these likeable heroines are enjoying first-date sex on the back seat of a car, slipping Viagra pills into a spouse’s beer and inadvertently grabbing the crotch of an adjacent passenger on a commercial flight.
“If women our age were meant to have sex, God wouldn’t do what He does to our bodies!” argues Bergen’s feisty Federal court judge.
Book Club arrives in cinemas more than seven years after James’ literary beau Christian Grey whipped wide-eyed readers into a frenzy.
It’s hard to believe that one of the characters in the film wouldn’t have secretly read the bestseller in that period, but Holderman’s filmdoesn’t tarry on matters of likelihood or logic.
Not when contrivances and coincidences can be piled one atop another to provide the four leading ladies with predictable subplots that ensure they all reach the end credits with willing suitors and a sheen of contentment.
Best friends Diane (Keaton), Vivian (Fonda), Sharon (Bergen) and Carol (Steenburgen) merrily reunite each month over glasses of chilled white wine to discuss a book chosen by one of them.
Hotel manager Vivian elects to introduce her shocked pals to Christian Grey’s notorious Red Room. As agreed, the women devour the pages of the chosen tome and James’ lurid descriptions of spanking and bondage spark lustful thoughts.
Doting wife Carol seeks new ways to reinvigorate her marriage to husband Bruce (Craig T Nelson) while Sharon signs up to an internet dating site and matches with accountant George (Richard Dreyfuss).
Vivian has a chance encounter with old flame Arthur (Don Johnson) and recently widowed Diane is swept off her feet by airline captain Mitchell (Andy Garcia).
Unlike the luminous leading ladies, Book Club feels tired and outdated. The cast enliven a plodding script and inject vim into scenes of sisterly solidarity that might otherwise become clogged with emotional syrup.
Fonda savours every slink of her maneater and Bergen can make even the dullest one-liner sing. They are more than Holderman’s film deserves.