This one, I admit, I knew nothing about, other than that it starred John Ritter and a lot of random women. Ritter (in his bearded phase) is an alcoholic writer and womanizer who, in the opening scene, is caught in bed with another woman by his mistress (Denise Crosby), who tries to shoot him, and then his wife (Alyson Reed) walks in. He doesn’t have a place to live, since she tosses him out, and he can’t write, since he’s blocked. He spends the rest of the movie trying to sleep with various anonymous girls (one is the Boss’ ex, Julianne Phillips, another the bodybuilder/American Gladiator Raye Hollitt; since it’s the 80s, all have various forms of bad hair) and complaining about how difficult his (rich, accomplished) life is.
I didn’t have much patience for this — like the later Californication, it asks us to sympathize with a guy whose life would be pretty good if he didn’t keep screwing it up by not being able to keep his dick in his pants or liquor out of his glass. The concept of self-control doesn’t seem to occur to him, or to the kind of men who make these movies to indulge their arguments for pity. Then again, they live in California, where addictions are accommodated until someone winds up dead.
Ritter’s character goes to a bartender, he goes to a shrink, but actually making the difficult choices to improve or work hard at solving his problems seems beyond him. The whole movie is an argument for why everyone should love this asshole anyway, trying to cast his struggles as charming under it all. At least, Ritter makes this unlikable character sympathetic, reminding me just how much of a talent he was. He balances the dramatic and comedy moments well, even if I’m clearly not the audience for this middle-aged-man’s movie.
For special features, there’s the theatrical trailer, some dated cast & crew listings, and some other DVD ads.