Prime - Cox News Service movie review

'Prime': Comedy doesn't become Meryl Streep

By TOM HALLMAN
Cox News Service

At its heart, "Prime" could've been a good off-color joke: "Did you hear the one about the woman who tells her psychoanalyst all the juicy details about her hot, young lover — only to learn that he's the shrink's son...?"

It would've made droll cocktail party humor, perhaps. Or maybe a sitcom.

It should've made a better movie, had writer/director Ben Younger managed to build a real story around the joke — or had more than just one member of the cast bothered to take the acting seriously.

Focus Features

'Prime'

C-

The verdict: An amusing premise, a crisp performance by Uma Thurman — and absolutely nothing else.

Director: Ben Younger
Starring: Meryl Streep, Uma Thurman, Bryan Greenberg, Jon Abrahams, Jerry Adler
Run time: 106 minutes
Release date: Oct. 28, 2005
Rating: PG-13 for sexual content including dialogue, and for language.
See showtimes

On the web
Official movie site
View the trailer
Trailers require Quicktime

Coulda. Woulda. Shoulda.

Didnta.

"Prime" is a one-trick pony that Younger rode straight into the ground — with plenty of help from his cast, most of whom occupied the saddle like a sack of potatoes. Stale ones at that.

Uma Thurman is the only one who manages to rein in a potentially runaway script. She plays Rafi, a recently divorced 37-year-old who we meet as she lays bare her emotions before her therapist, Lisa Metzger (Meryl Streep).

Rafi first meets Dave (Bryan Greenberg) at a dinner with friends. They immediately lie to one another about their ages. (She's 37; he's 23.) Dave's buddy, Morris (Jon Abrahams), warns him, "I think this is going to end badly." As if he knows just how poorly Meryl Streep and comedy mix.

In therapy sessions, Rafi confides the naked truth about her physical relationship with Dave and before long, therapist Metzger — who uses her maiden name in her practice — has put two and two together and come up with her son. Some of the lines in these therapy scenes are genuinely funny, even hilarious, but there's a limit to how long a director can sustain that kind of humor. Younger exceeds it. Badly.

Then he turns to other tacks. The May-September jokes are to be expected. They're also hackneyed, which leads the struggling director to grope for yet another source of laughs, to wit: Metzger wants no future for her son with a Gentile. It's hard to say whether the script or Streep's Jewish mother is worse. Take your choice. Both are farmisht.

This is not the Meryl Streep of "The Bridges of Madison County" or "Kramer vs. Kramer." This is not the Meryl Streep of "Sophie's Choice" or "Silkwood" or "The French Lieutenant's Woman" or ... you get the idea. It's impossible to deny the talent of one of the most honored actresses in the history of the movies — and therefore all the more distressing to see her implode with a such a painful performance. Comedy doesn't become her.

As a leading man, Greenberg is in deep over his head. He stumbles through what meager lines he's given. He has the body and the big, brown eyes to grab the attention of a middle-aged bombshell, yes. But he has nothing else. Best that he shut up and look like a stud.

In the midst of this morass is Thurman. She gets the best lines and, thankfully, cares enough to do something with them. She's funny, sexy, heartfelt and genuine.

And she's not enough to salvage a lame picture.