It has the plot of a bedroom farce, though the director, Yurek Bogayevicz, doesn't appear to notice the fact, or feel obliged on that account to be funny, or have any inhibition about reaching for the spiritual heights. A closet lesbian, all set to "come out" at her sister's wedding, but jilted by her lover right beforehand and unable to face family scrutiny, gets the bright idea of hiring a male escort to accompany her. Then she gets the bright idea of rehiring the same escort to woo her ex-lover, with the intention of proving to her that men are shits and that she was better off before. The unconventional composition of the triangle does not much alter the predictability of what happens, at least up till the noncommittal ending. William Baldwin, with the look of an inebriated turtle, seems to be irresistible to women simply because the script says so; and for no different reason he outpaces Richard Gere as an American gigolo on an odyssey of self-discovery. Kelly Lynch, although incapable of making anything seem exactly natural, is to be commended for playing the full-time lesbian without any special signalling or sign-carrying. And it's a treat of a sort to hear Sherilyn Fenn, in the guise of a CUNY English professor, read aloud from the prose of Knut Hamsun. My, how it breathes! (1993) — Duncan Shepherd
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