Right fielder for the Atlanta Braves falls for an aspiring rock singer with big dreams; she becomes his good luck charm and marries him, but also wants him to succeed on his own without holding her hand. The combination of director Hal Ashby with screenwriter Neil Simon should've been more interesting than this! The picture has no rhythm: Ashby's timing is shot, he can't build any momentum with the love story, and his actors appear desperate. Tepid leads Michael O'Keefe and Rebecca & De Mornay give ruinous performances (she sings nondescript versions of Prince and Bruce Springsteen songs that wouldn't have garnered applause on Star Search). Supporting cast including Martin Ritt (the director going back to acting) and Randy Quaid fares no better (Ritt's coach decides the best medicine for a heartbroken O'Keefe is to "get him laid", and three girls in a nightclub are rounded up like cattle). A handful of highly-acclaimed filmmakers from the 1970s seemed to bottom-out in the '80s--the decade just left them behind. Ashby is unfortunately one of these casualties, but what was Neil Simon's excuse? * from ****
Review of The Slugger's Wife
