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
