Opposite of Sex, The (1998)

reviewed by
Chris Loar


The Opposite of Sex
Directed by Don Roos
A film review by Chris Loar

The posters advertising THE OPPOSITE OF SEX declare "You'll Laugh. You'll Cry. You'll Be Offended." Frankly, this misrepresentation is probably the most offensive thing about this film, which poses as a cynical portrait of an unscrupulous teen on the run while striking a tone no more jaded than your average Disney picture. I don't mind light feel-good fare, but there's something cloying about this tease -- I like sentiment to advertise itself as such, rather than hiding behind an ink cloud of fashionable detachment. That said, OPPOSITE is entertaining enough: it features a nice turn by Christina Ricci (who's transformed herself from a hilariously ironic Wednesday Addams into a hilariously ironic late-teen vamp -- sort of a low-calorie version of Linda Fiorentino's Wendy Kroy) and a slight but clever script by director Don Roos.

As the film opens, Ricci's character, Dedee Truitt, sets the tone by spitting on her stepfather's grave -- at the funeral, no less -- and things go generally downhill from there. Dedee runs away from her Louisiana home and her crazed mother, planning to crash with her half-brother Bill (Martin Donovan, as noble and injured as ever). Bill teaches high school and lives comfortably from the money he's inherited from his long-time companion Tom; noble and generous to a fault, he gives Dedee the run of the house. He comes to regret this move in short order, since Dedee's first act as houseguest is to seduce Bill's lover, Matt (Ivan Sergei) -- and, when she turns up pregnant, to take off for California, dragging with her Matt, Tom's ashes, and $10,000 in cash. Bill's troubles are compounded when another of the prodigious Matt's lovers, Jason (Johnny Galecki) tells the police and the press that Bill's sexually assaulted him. Suspended from work and heartbroken, Bill takes off for California to find Matt and Dedee, with Tom's sister Lucia (Lisa Kudrow) in tow, and with Sheriff Carl Tippett (Lyle Lovett) in hot pursuit.

All this may sound like standard comic fare, and sure enough, it is. What we have here is a more or less formulaic film posing as a quirky independent feature; it dresses itself up in faux cynicism, and leans on some amusing self-referential voice-overs to distinguish itself. It shouldn't have bothered; what value is there to be found is almost buried beneath the gimmicks and tricks. Its primary virtue is, in fact, something so simple as a first-rate cast. Ricci, as I've said, is all grown up now, but her character isn't; she's still a kid inside a grownup persona, and Ricci delivers that nuance perfectly. This is also the best work we've seen from Lisa Kudrow; with a few tweaks to her FRIENDS persona, the ditz is gone, replaced by a somewhat twitchy, uptight schoolmarm. And Donovan and Lovett, though sorely underused and slightly miscast, are as appealing as ever.

It's sad to see this talent working so hard on such an unworthy project. It's not just that it isn't terribly original; I could live with that. It's also that it feels sloppy and tacked-together; that it offers up silly stereotypes of gay men, then apologizes for them with preachy asides; that it hauls in flat, wooden characters to tie up subplots that had no business there in the first place.

So perhaps it's not the film's fundamental inoffensiveness that bothers me. It's rather that the film is too obviously and casually offensive, all to no purpose. Offense can be interesting; I'm a believer in throwing rocks at sacred cows. But this film can't muster up the energy to really upset anybody; telling us that teens are sometimes angry and often display a cynicism they haven't really earned isn't exactly news. And where it is offensive, it's unintentional and to no effect, giving us rather tired portraits of queened-out gay men and bitter, frigid women. So and watch Ricci blossom, Kudrow mature, and Sergei stand around looking pretty. But don't expect a satisfying story; you'll be courting disappointment.

Copyright 1998 Chris Loar  

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