Meaningless Relationship

"AIN'T NO DOUBT about it," some might prognosticate gloomily, shaking their Maine hunting caps. "OI' Burt Reynolds sure become some kind of quiche-eater." To confirm these rock-ribbed fears that the erstwhile Gator's preference has turned to that metaphorical dish, they might very well point to the scene in Best Friends where, with a pout and an arched eyebrow. Burt grumbles to Goldie Hawn: "I hate grits." It is, it seems, a final, symbolic denial of his celluloid past.

But the fact is, though it may seem a great distance from the shacks of the Bayou backwater to the pink stucco of the Burbank 'burbs. Reynolds, in his latest film, hasn't really changed at all--his acting style is the same. Unlike such granite monoliths as Charles Bronson and Clint Eastwood, he's always gotten by on cuteness rather than caliber. But this lack of depth has never really mattered before.

It's when Reynolds trades in his speedboats 'n'-shotguns for those Modern Relationships with Jill Clayburgh and company that his cuteness undermines him. His easygoing charm works fine when crashing through state trooper roadblocks, but in the already cute genre of romantic comedy, it becomes superfluous and cloying. And with the addition of Goldie Hawn's aggressive cuddlyness. Best Friends is positively overloaded.

The main problem, however, lies in the script, which equivocates between a light piece and a serious drama about love, friendship, careers, etc. The abrupt oscillations leave Reynolds and Hawn stranded somewhere in between, rather confused and half-hearted.

The two play a scriptwriting duo, Richard and Paula, who've been living together for more than three years, even buying a house. Richard thinks it's time they got married, "so that I can show the whole world how much I love you." Paula, typically self-centered but not self-aware, is reluctant to take that large stride into maturity and commitment, but finally capitulates uneasily.

The two embark upon an uncomfortable honeymoon train rides to visit their parents back East. The audience is served up a platter of cute little vignettes of the trip (most of which are featured in the previews). This fluff is washed down by the soundtrack's particularly insipid cocktail of tinkling piano chords that bob around like ice cubes in a wash of syrupy strings.

BUT ABRUPTLY, the film takes an unsettling plunge into gloom, as the beleaguered couple arrives in Buffalo to see Paula's parents (Burnard Hughes and Jessica Tandy.) In her old home, Paula finds her vague dread about wedlock confirmed: her parents now live in a sadly senescent twilight, paying little attention to each other on the eve of their 40th anniversary. And Richard has to suffer sleeping by himself on his honeymoon, not to mention Paula's mother's well-meaning attempt to serve him grits in homage to his Southern background. The fledgling marriage, nurtured in the hedonistic sunlight of California, begins to freeze in the Catholic gloom of Buffalo. By the time they get to Richard's parents' in Virginia, it looks as if it will never bloom.

The act of official wedlock, it seems, has choked off their former love and friendship. But the deterioration is never made clear by the script; both characters pout and mope for a while, and in the end the marriage is not so much broken down or negated as merely shrugged off.

The film does have a few nice touches. The couple's hurried wedding in a Hispanic chapel with the preacher's very broken English is quite charming. And with the little material they have, the Broadway veterans Jessica Tandy and Barnard Hughes perform their customary wonders of characterization.

And Reynolds himself isn't really that bad. Though by no means the next Clark Gable, he does have some inherent promise as a male romantic lead. But Best Friends simply is not his style, and until he finds the right film to develop his potential, we'll continue to be nostalgic for Gator, White Lightning, and even--God forbid--Smokey and the Bandit.