LA LUNA aka LUNA

LA LUNA (1979) . Director: Bernardo Bertolucci. Released as Luna in the U.S.

Jill Clayburgh stars as opera singer Catherina Silveri, whose husband (a briefly seen Fred Gwynne) drops dead, leaving her alone with her fourteen-year-old son Joe (Matthew Barry, who was actually 17 at the time). Before long, they are living in Italy, where Silveri sings in Verdi's operas. (When Clayburgh sings by herself in her home early in the film, one can't imagine she would ever be able to sing in an opera house. During the opera scenes, of course, her singing voice is dubbed.) Joe makes his way by himself through Rome as his mother essentially neglects him, until halfway through the movie the two begin a sexual relationship that starts with them making out in her car, then hitting the sheets -- yuck! This (unfortunately) non-judgmental incest drama could have gone in far more interesting directions but instead becomes a ponderous, pretentious mess about the mother of all bad mothers -- incest and pedophilia, no less -- and is far too repellent to sustain serious interest. A sub-plot with Joe meeting his real father doesn't help matters much. One of Bertolucci's all-time worst movies. The acting isn't bad, but common sense should have told Clayburgh -- and young Barry's parents -- to stay away from this movie! This also goes for Alida Valli, who appears in a small role.

Verdict: Yuck! *.

AN UNMARRIED WOMAN

AN UNMARRIED WOMAN (1978). Writer/Director: Paul Mazursky.

Erica (Jill Clayburgh) seems to have a perfect life and marriage, but suddenly one afternoon her husband (Michael Murphy) begins to sob and blurts out that he's fallen in love with another woman and wants to be with her. What follows is Erica's attempts to deal with being suddenly single and "alone" with a teenage daughter, having to re-enter the dating pool, and so on. This is a very light film that isn't funny enough to be a comedy and certainly hasn't the meat to make it a strong dramatic contender -- yet in its day it was highly acclaimed, perhaps because it supposedly struck a nerve in the fashionable idea of women's independence. Erica winds up with an artistic schlockmeister, Saul (Alan Bates), who throws paint on canvases, although she resists simply turning her whole life over to him as she did with her husband. One problem is that as a rich white Vassar graduate, Erica's post-divorce problems are not nearly as bad as other women's. But the really big problem is that the film is predictable and lacks bite. The scenes between Erica and her therapist seem improvised and are rather dull. The whole movie is well-produced but not exactly riveting.

Verdict: A dated curiosity. **.