Paris, France Reviews

A pretentious and not very stimulating piece of soft-core eroticism, PARIS, FRANCE is superficial, confusing, and ultimately annoying. An energetic cast is wasted trying to breathe life into flat, unmotivated characters. It's Good Friday. Writer Lucy Quick (Leslie Hope) expresses displeasure at the prospect of doing a public reading from her book; husband and publisher Michael (Victor Ertmanis) tries to reassure her. William (Dan Lett), also a writer, arrives with Randy Sloan (Peter Outerbridge) for dinner. Lucy is attracted to Sloan and, when she catches him stealing some of her lingerie, flirts with him and lets him keep the garment. Later, they conduct a brief, unsatisfying affair. Although Lucy's main trouble appears to be a bad case of writer's block, she also has a peculiar obsession with Minter (Raoul Trujillo), a poet who died of cancer. Minter appears in both her fantasies and her fiction; a scar on Sloan's face reminds her of Minter. Meanwhile, Sloan has a mutually satisfying tryst with William, although William takes the relationship more seriously than does Sloan. Michael then experiences what appears to be a psychotic break; he says he received a phone call from John Lennon and believes he has only three days to live. In search of a satisfactory sexual experience, Lucy dabbles in rough sex and S&M with Sloan. Michael considers trying gay sex with William, but rejects the idea. He really wants Sloan. Lucy casually mentions her dalliance with Sloan in front of William, who is crushed and lashes out at Sloan. By acting out her sexual fantasies, Lucy overcomes her writer's block and prepares to finish her book, Paris, France. But Michael demands to watch Lucy and Sloan having sex. Sloan begins with Lucy, but ends with Michael, who loses consciousness. In PARIS, FRANCE, characters and relationships jump from point to point with little or no motivation. Lucy, who has never cheated before, hops into the sack with Sloan shortly after meeting him; while Michael, for no apparent reason, turns from a responsible and humane publisher into a basket case, babbling about his impending death while strumming a guitar. In the absence of any narrative discipline, Tom Walmsley's screenplay resorts to pithy one-liners in order to set up or explain the action. Lucy, for instance, characterizes her attempt to explore her fantasies with Sloan as "trying to impose will and imagination on a sordid mistake"--words that might as easily describe any attempt to explain this pointless movie. (Extensive nudity, sexual situations, adult situations, profanity.)