Passion of Mind
Ever since Betty Friedan wrote "The Feminine Mystique," we've all been aware that American women are living a double life. First, there's the desire for career accomplishment that's subservient to their role as mother and wife. Then there are the dual roles of wife and mother, mother and daughter. The list just goes on and on.
I certainly am not one to begrudge anybody's right to complain, but it really kicks ass when you can end almost any argument with a woman simply by using the words, "I pee standing up." Does this female dichotomy thing have to suddenly become a cultural imperative? There was "Sliding Doors" and "Me Myself I" and who knows how many others. Now this film arrives to put in its own two cents on the tail end of a dwindling debate.
Demi Moore leads two lives as Marty and Marie. One is in France with her two children, her mother and a potential lover named William (Stellan Skarsgard). The other life she lives is in New York sans kids and mother, but there is a potential lover named Aaron (William Fichtner). The problem is that Moore's character knows one life is a dream -- she just doesn't know which one.
In addition to beating a dead horse, this film is a patently lame attempt to pin some legitimacy onto Moore's career. I'm sorry, did I miss something? Didn't "Striptease" do that? Once you get those implants, legitimacy ought to be removed from your vocabulary, because it just ain't happening. For one thing, Moore can't do a damn thing in this film without her nipples being fully erect. I think she tries frying bacon in a sauna with no luck. When a nipple can punch a hole through duct tape, an actress ought to resign herself to a certain kind of career.
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