Diary of a Mad Housewife gone, but will be back next month

EFFECTIVE propaganda is invariably simple-minded: nuances leave room for doubts, subtlety leaves room for interpretation. Frank and Eleanor Perry, who directed David and Lisa, have made Diary of a Mad Housewife into a good deal more than a mere fleshed-out case study for advocates of Women's Liberation. Carrie Snodgrass, as the harassed housewife nagged to distraction by her socially-climbing husband (Richard Benjamin), makes a token rebellion in her affair with a semi-famous writer who turns out to be equally odious. They are horrible not only because they are men but because they are horrible. Snodgrass is sensitive and put-upon because she is telling the story, but even in objective terms she is clearly the good guy.

She struggles to please her self-centered husband Jonathan, to bring up her children, to run her party. Her surroundings conspire against her. The caterers move in and take over her party; the neighbors complain to her about the coat rack that her husband has left in the hall of their Central Park West apartment; Jonathan derides her in front of the children; and when she cooks a special stuffing for the Thanksgiving turkey (as Jonathan has demanded), one of the girls spits it out. Jonathan explodes.

Richard Benjamin, who played the eager young nebbish in Goodbye, Columbus, plays the same man here, now successful but no less insecure. With the obsessive concern of the nouveau riche he pesters his wife about her clothes, about party invitations that she must send out, about choosing the proper wine, and so forth. Tina is being pecked not by a rooster but by a hen. Her lover, on the other hand, comes on as a virile, aggressive bastard with a sexy smile-and you know that if her husband were to find about the affair he would probably say, "Why Tina! I'm surprised at you; don't I give you all you need?" and then add, "But you know, he's a very famous author. I always knew you had it in you. In a way, Tina, I'm almost proud."

Jonathan sees everything as a reflection of himself, and demands that Tina center her world around him. Famous Author George Praeger (Frank Langella) tries to assert his dominance by refusing to get involved. He sees himself as a cool, invulnerable man irresistible to women-but he is unable to deal with the women he attracts. Instead of enveloping Tina like her husband, he warns her repeatedly to keep her distance.

THE PERRYS have drawn these characters somewhat extremely but as true characters-colored by Tina's perception-they are convincing. A consistent framework of ideological analysis would require a consistent creation, with actions triggering appropriate reactions and events falling into the proper sequence. The heroes of, say, Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath are effective by virtue of their humanity, but at the same time they are a bit dull. Each character is always perfectly in character and demonstrates the effects of America's social structure-but no one has any of those peculiarities that might make you fall in love with someone: Steinbeck's people respond to primal urges and human needs, nothing more.

The Perrys' talent, on the other hand, lies not in such wide generalities or analysis but in acute perception, in stacking up details to make a convincing picture of one mad housewife. Tina clarifies the position of the housewife in general, but she is no flat generalization. And for once children are portrayed without any of the usual cuteness: Tina's two girls are devoid of any charm. They are brats pure and simple. Benjamin is slimy and nervous, like a persnickety housewife himself: everything must be just so-the salad, the furniture, the damson plum preserves. Snodgrass' real housewife is suitably hassled and frustrated by the mad world around her, but she meets it head-on: this is no sob story of a woman lost in an overbearing situation not of her own making. Perhaps her madness consists only of her willingness to fight.