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TIME: Almanac 1990s
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<text id=93TT1778>
<title>
May 24, 1993: Reviews:Cinema
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1993
May 24, 1993 Kids, Sex & Values
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
REVIEWS
CINEMA, Page 80
Lost in Ambition
</hdr>
<body>
<p>By RICHARD SCHICKEL
</p>
<qt>
<l>TITLE: Neil Simon's Lost In Yonkers</l>
<l>DIRECTOR: Martha Coolidge</l>
<l>WRITER: Neil Simon</l>
</qt>
<p> THE BOTTOM LINE: An airless adaptation of a hit play overexposes
its flaws.
</p>
<p> One mean mother (Irene Worth); her 36-year-old daughter (Mercedes
Ruehl), whom the mother has contrived to keep in a state of
childish dependency; and a rebel son (Richard Dreyfuss), who
has become a gangster: confine just these three most colorful
members of the Kurnitz family in a small space (the apartment
above Mom's candy store in Yonkers, circa 1942), and claustrophobia
begins to itch at one's soul. Add a couple of lively boys, Jay
and Arty (Brad Stoll and Mike Damus), forced by circumstances
to live with Grandma for the worst part of a year. All are damaged
in less than amusing ways, and after a couple of hours it begins
to feel as if they've pumped all the air out of the theater.
</p>
<p> Neil Simon's adaptation of his Pulitzer prizewinning play is,
as one might expect, entirely respectful of the original (his
boldest creative stroke is working his own name into the movie's
title). Director Coolidge, who did a fine job with another eccentric
family in Rambling Rose, moves quite gracefully within the confines
of a piece only minimally "opened up" for the screen. Ruehl
has two poignant arias announcing her realization of what her
mother has done to her. Dreyfuss spritzes high-spirited resentment,
and Worth's steely old woman, determined not to show softness
to anyone, is a powerful presence. Such suspense as the film
displays derives from the question of whether someone, somehow
can crack her open.
</p>
<p> Nevertheless, for all its professionalism and occasional felicities,
you suspect that Lost in Yonkers worked better on the stage.
One generally wants to maintain a certain distance from dysfunction;
you don't want it leaping across the footlights to land, falsely
grinning, falsely ingratiating, in your lap. But it is, of course,
precisely the camera's business to facilitate such leaps. Even
so, if these people had any real charm, if their oddity were
cloaked in wit, if their rather chilly creator brought some
real compassion to these sealed-off lives, we might take them
more readily to heart. If they suggested some generalized insights
about lower-middle-class life, we might more readiforgive their
dreary excesses. And if wishing could make it so, Neil Simon
would be Anton Chekov's authentic, instead of his merely aspiring,
heir. Which would make this a much better world to live in.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>