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TIME: Almanac 1990s
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<text id=90TT2467>
<title>
Sep. 17, 1990: Spin And Sizzle
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1990
Sep. 17, 1990 The Rotting Of The Big Apple
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
CINEMA, Page 70
Spin and Sizzle
</hdr>
<body>
<qt>
<l>POSTCARDS FROM THE EDGE</l>
<l>Directed by Mike Nichols</l>
<l>Screenplay by Carrie Fisher</l>
</qt>
<p> Let's get the dish over with quickly. Suzanne Vale (Meryl
Streep) is a drug-addicted actress whose mother, Doris Mann
(Shirley MacLaine), was a big musical comedy star with a
drinking problem and whose singer-father walked out when
Suzanne was a child. Actress Carrie Fisher, author of the novel
and screenplay Postcards from the Edge, is the daughter of
Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher. But it shouldn't matter
whether this wonderful comedy is really about famous people who
make life tough for themselves and the ones they love most.
It's like worrying whether a historical Hamlet really lusted
after his mother. Postcards is no Debbie Dearest, no venomous
settling of scores. For Carrie Fisher, the play's the thing--the play of words on a stage of mixed emotions as big as a
Hollywood back lot.
</p>
<p> And what words! In this era of post-verbal cinema, Postcards
proves that movie dialogue can still carry the sting, heft and
meaning of the finest old romantic comedy. Suzanne is ever
crouching, like a stubborn, frightened child, behind the wall
of her ironizing humor. As a coke-carrying member of the
sensation generation, for whom "instant gratification takes too
long," she is impatient with her wit; too easily she can turn
a kind thought against itself. Just as easily, she has turned
her life into a sad joke, blowing lines on the set and nearly
dying from an overdose. To get a new movie job, Suzanne must
agree to live with her mother, who has her own abuse problems.
Doris needs a drink the way a crooner needs a mike, though she
claims she is no longer an alcoholic. "Now," she says, "I just
drink like an Irish person."
</p>
<p> The novel, written in epistolary form, concentrated more on
the dark laughter of the rehab clinic. The movie, which drops
the postcards but keeps the edge, is a show-biz mother-daughter
film par excellence--Terms of Endearment out of Gypsy.
Suzanne has her poignant wrangles with movie types (nice turns
by Dennis Quaid and Rob Reiner as producers, Gene Hackman and
Simon Callow as directors), but Postcards is bound by family
ties. MacLaine gives a wonderfully excessive rendition of the
Sondheim song I'm Still Here: "First you're another sloe-eyed
vamp,/ Then someone's mother, then you're camp." In Postcards
she is all of these, and better still she finds an aging
woman's tenacious grimace under decades of gamine makeup.
</p>
<p> The final triumph is Streep's. Forget the globe-trotting
tragic-heroine roles that made her famous. Under the sorcerer's
wand of director Nichols she proves again she is our finest
comedienne; like the late Irene Dunne, she adds spin and sizzle
to every bon mot. By sinking ever so slightly into
world-weariness, Streep can locate the desperation in Suzanne's
banter while keeping her delivery featherlight. And she can
sing too, bringing her uniquely precise passion to ballads and
down-home rave-ups. "I don't want life to imitate art," Suzanne
says with her usual blithe exasperation. "I want life to be
art." This comedy is art, as exhilarating as the first autumn
breeze after a summer of movie bloat.
</p>
<p>By Richard Corliss
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>