Another engrossing and insightful piece of filmmaking from Malcolm Mowbray, proving once and for all that his name deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as Truffaut, Godard and Chabrol. However, it is not for Mowbray's talents that this film will be remembered always; in 'Don't Tell Her...', we at last find a stage upon which Steve Guttenberg's talent may shine, and shine alone.
Guttenberg essays the role of Gus Kubicek, recovering from a recent illness which has forced him to confront the truth of his own mortality. In a touching scene, clearly reminiscent of the closing moments of Nagasa's Ai No Corrida, Kubicek's sister (Shelley Long) pledges to support him in the quest to recover a semblance of his sense of self.
What follows is a poignant and moving account of one man's struggle to pretend to be a biker from New Zealand. Surprising, shocking and at times brutally honest, it is only by virtue of Guttenberg's sheer, uncompromising talent that the film remains as fluid and engaging as it is. He gives a breathtaking performance, the unique subtlety of his acting almost imperceptible as he deftly switches between the persona of the overweight cartoonist and the biker from New Zealand. Unencumbered by having to share the screen with the clumsier talents of Selleck, Danson et al, Guttenburg turns 'Don't Tell Her' into a stunning and exhilarating tour de force, elevating the film to a supern example of highly original post-modern cinema verite.
