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About The daily Nebraskan. ([Lincoln, Neb.) 1901-current | View Entire Issue (Nov. 14, 1989)
Arts & Entertainment ‘Worth Winningy plot stupid By Julie Naughton Staff Reporter “Worth Winning” is a comedy with a stupid plot - but it has its moments. Mark Harmon plays Taylor Worth, a Philadelphia TV weather man who has women falling all over him. He has a slight problem commit ting to one woman, so his obnoxious friends - Ned Braudy (Mark Blum), Eric (Brad Hall) and Sam (Jon Korkes) - decide to take matters into their own hands and find him a good woman. Ned masterminds a plot bom out of jealousy of Taylor’s lifestyle — Ned picks three women, and Taylor has to gel all three to say that they’ll marry him - on videotape. The stakes: Taylor’s fishing cabin against a Picasso, owned by Ned’s wife. The three women who become involved in this preposterous plot arc the shy, naive, beautiful Erin Cooper, a receptionist for the Philadelphia Eagles (played by Maria Holvoe); the sex-crazed, proper Society Hill housewife Eleanor Larrimorc (played by Lesley Ann Warren); and the fiesty, spirited New Age concert pianist Veronica Briskow (played by Madeleine Stowe). And wow, Tay- < lor’s got a heart. While he’s seducing i the three women, he actually falls in l love with one of them. Amazing. I This plot is the height of stupidity. Don’t these men realize that they’re playing, mercilessly, with these women’s lives? However, the funni est moments in this movie come when the three women discover Tay- i lor and Ned’s plot and turn the tables on them. A more human, less smug i Photo courtMy Twontioth-Contury Fox The cast of Twentieth Century Fox’s romantic comedy “Worth Winning.” side of Taylor is seen after this takes place. Harmon makes the best of a some what unlikablc character in this pro duction. The actor has an inherent likability - and he’s one of the few actors today who could make Taylor Worth work. Holvoc is a Swedish model who makes her film debut as the virginal Erin, who is naive to the point of being stupid. She seems to have been raised in a foreign country where sex doesn’texist. She is a bombshell who makes grown men cry, and she seems totally unaware of the effect that she has on them. She is attracted to Tay lor because he doesn’t try to make a pass at her. Warren is funny as the sex-crazed Eleanor, but her character is much too simplified. There arc underlying reasons why this woman is unhappy with her practical marriage and boor ish husband, but Warren doesn’t address them. Granted, this is a com edy and not a drama, but these con cerns could have been dealt with more effectively. Stowe is one of the only thor oughly believable characters in the entire movie. Stowe’s Veronica is strong-willed, gutsy, bitchy, funny and nervous ... in other words, human. She plays a free-spirited concert pianist who pretends to hate men — but in reality, is scared of them. She falls hard for Taylor, and is the most peeved when Taylor’s bet is exposed. Ned Braudy’s wife, Claire, is played by Andrea Martin, arguably one of the most talented people in this cast. Martin’s Claire is a real person; she is believable, she is funny, she is real. And she admirably handles her obnoxious, unlikcable husband. The music in this film is its best feature. Chopin’s “Etud<5 Opus 25 #2” is a hauntingly beautiful touch amidst all this fluff, and the .Patrick Williams score is light and appealing. Liz Story’s “Worth Winning’’ and “Forgiveness” also are worth listen ing to. This movie follows the current trend of selling a movie in one tow n and filming it in another. “Worth Winning” is set in Philadelphia and filmed (mostly) in L.A. Occasional shots were filmed in Philadelphia, including the Society Hill area (Taylor’s supposed neigh borhood) and the Manufacturer’s Golf and Country Club. Movie-goers may want to miss this movie if they’re looking for an intellectual movie, or even a movie with any type of brains. However, if they’re looking for a funny film to see on a date, they might enjoy “Worth Winning.” James ‘Dean Hanna Rebel attitude has no room for paper cuts By Jim Hanna Stiff Humorist OK, so I had this dream last night. In the dream, it seems that James Dean was alive and we were drinking buddies. We were hanging out at Cliff s, a lounge at 140 N. 12thSt.We were playing the Trivia video game between peach Kamikazes. Like most dreams, it was kinda fuzzy and scattered but I think I drank him under the table and got the high score on sex trivia. From there my dream took on some Freudian twists that I would rather not go into, but when I awoke it was only the James Dean part that stuck with me. I took a shower and tried to chisel the sleep out of my eyes, but I couldn’t keep my mind from wander ing back to James Dean. Then I realized that the dream must have been a sign. Dean was trying to reach me from beyond the grave in order to pass on his legacy. It was suddenly so obvious: James Dean’s spirit was ready to return to Earth and I was to be its bodily ve hicle. I climbed out of the shower and stood dripping naked in front of my mirror (go ahead, visualize it if you want). Before my eyes, I saw myself transforming into the sneering king of rebellion. I was becoming James Dean. Today, I decided, would be a day of merciless rebellion. I would take advantage of every opportunity to defy authority and spit in the face of convention. I toweled off, slathered on some Speed Slick and gelled my hair. Then for good measure, I added another dollop of gel to give my hair the extra body I would need as a rebel. I swaggered out of my bathroom and was greeted by my hungry, me owing cat, Bert. In true rebellious fashion, I kicked him in the head and said... “Rebels are too cool for our friends in the animal kingdom.” I then informed him that his name no longer would be Bert. Instead, he would be known as Sal Mineo. He meowed real cool-like and rebelliously pee’d on my bed. I slipped on a tight pair of faded Levi’sand searched furiously for any black shirt. I finally found an old, black hand-me-down T-shirt that my cousin got at an Eddie Rabbit concert at the Iowa state fair in 1979. Realiz ing that I was now loo cool to wear an Eddie Rabbit shirt, I turned it inside out, further enhancing my awesome rebellion. I skipped breakfast, knowing full well I was too hip to be bothered by it, and strutted out the door. Before I got into my car (actually my Mom’s 1977 Mercury), I ripped the muffler off with my bare hands to give the car a real bitchin* roar. I headed off down 12th Street toward school. At one intersection I blazed through a yellow light that turned red as I was going through. A nearby police cruiser flashed its lights as a warning. Feeling a surge of defiance, I gave that pig the bird by coyly scratching my nose with my middle finger. God, I was cool. I whipped my car into a metered stall and was struck with an idea of' contumacious brilliance: l wasn’t going to plug my meter today. That’s right, if they want to ticket me, let ’em. I don’t care. In fact, I dare them to give me a citation. My uncle’s a lawyer and I’ll take them to court. Just then, a meter monitor drove by. I stood next to my meter defi antly, trying to make it very obvious that I had no intention of plugging my meter. She was looking the other way and didn’t see me but that didn’t slop me from slyly cleaning my car with my middle finger. Ooooh, I was being so naughty. I strolled across campus to my first class, intentionally bumping into several people along the way. One impudent woman actually had the nerve to call the new James Dean a jerk, but I froze her blood with a contemptuous.,leer. Then I dumped her books. I entered class and look a seat in the back row. I sprawled out in my desk and stole a copy of the Daily Nebraskan from my neighbor. I read through it, snorting with disgust ev ery now and then and loudly referring to it as a second-rate piece of journal istic dung. My classmates cowered at my recalcitrance (I love my thesau rus). I then proceeded to make spitballs out of the newspaper and flick them on the ceiling. Then the professor came in and started lecturing about something, boring. I raised my hand and made mystical allusions to Charlie Stark weather as if I actually knew what I was talking about. He was impressed and at the same time terrified. My classmates were amazed at my new image. They were very fright See HANNA on 7 John Bruca/Daily Nabra tkan