Were sweetmeats. She's a waitress, he's a short-order cook, at the Apollo cafe on 23rd and 9th, patronized and operated by a large assemblage of monotonously "colorful" characters (the wallflower waitress, the wild waitress, etc.). Terrence McNally has thus "opened up," and juiced up, his own two-character stage play, and Garry Marshall has imbued it with his distinct directorial "touch": the pinch on the cheek, the chuck of the chin. It would take more than just stringy hair, certainly, to turn Michelle Pfeiffer into a drudge, and more than a headband to make Al Pacino young again. And it would also take more than lusterless photography to evoke an air of blue-collar life. Key moment: Frankie and Johnny are positioned behind a truck, and at the instant they lock lips for the first time, the rear door is rolled up to reveal a full cargo of flowers -- so dismally lit that it makes little impact. Johnny's special-request call to a classical deejay for an immediate reprise of Debussy's "Clair de Lune" (with string accompaniment) makes greater impact: acute embarrassment. Hector Elizondo, Kate Nelligan. (1991) — Duncan Shepherd
This movie is not currently in theaters.