An Unmarried Woman

On his commentary track, writer/director Paul Mazursky waxes nostalgic about what the '70s mean to him; it was a time when Hollywood was much friendlier to writer/directors, when NYC wasn't gentrified and artists could afford to live there, when the personal was very political and gender relations were in a cautious state of evolution. An Unmarried Woman is definitely a time capsule movie from an era when people cast their own psychotherapists to play… well, psychotherapists in painfully dry scenes that seem more voyeuristic than engaging. If Woody Allen's dialogue ever seemed stilted to you, you haven't seen what's supposed to be the romantic climax spoiled by a speech about abstract expressionism. And for some reason, financial and custody issues miraculously don't even enter into the fallout of a marriage. Yet even this film's painful earnestness can't taint what an effective film this still is today, thanks in large part to the awesome performance by Jill Clayburgh. This is a joy to watch, not just because of her Neko Case good looks but also because she excels at conveying intimacy, be it with her husband, child, lovers or female friends. Her performance competes with Mazursky's eye for the city, which along with Bill Conti's dramatic saxophone score helps make this a quintessential '70s Big Apple flick. In today's context, An Unmarried Woman could be glibly described as a more polite, political precursor to Sex and the City, but it's so much more than a second-generation feminist milestone. This is raw, real life adult sexual drama, and despite its dated flaws, it's entirely understandable why this still strikes such a universal chord today. (Fox)