My review was written In March 1991 after watching the film at a Times Square screening room.
"The Object of Beauty" is a throwback to the romantic comedies of Swinging London cinema, but lacks the punch of the best of that late '60s genre. It has only modest prospects among sophisticated theatrical audiences, with a much better outlook in ancillary exposure.
Following up his "The Sheltering Sky" performance with another drifting character, John Malkovich toplines as a ne'er-do-well holed up in a swank London hotel with his mate Andie MacDowell. Everyone assumes the two of them are married, but MacDowell is still hitched to estranged hubby Peter Riegert.
With amiable comedy situations to sugarcoat the opening reels, not much happens as the duo dine in the hotel's expensive restaurant, Malkovich worries about his broker selling him out on dubious investments and he carefully dodges the hotel manager (Joss Ackland) with inquiries about paying a portion of their bill.
Plot concerns the title object, a small Henry Moore figurine that MacDowell received from Riegert as a present and which Malkovich desperately wants to sell or use for an insurance scam to cover his hotel tab and ongoing business reverses.
Key script contrivance has a deaf-mute maid (Rudi Davies), newly hired at the hotel, becoming obsessed with the Moore sculpture and stealing it for a keepsake. This sets into motion trite complications, notably developing a wedge (as corny as O. Henry's "The Gift of the Magi") between Malkovich and MacDowell as each believes the other has pocketed the $50,000 art work.
A subplot involving Davies and her punk-styled brother strains heavily for pathos. Another unsuccessful side issue is Malkovich's selfish affair with MacDowell's best friend Lolita Davidovich, who makes the most of her one-dimensional part. (She replaced Elizabeth Perkins in the role.)
As in "Sheltering Sky", Malkovich ably brings out the unsympathetic nature of his antihero, but the script doesn't help him much in balancing that with any compelling reason for identification. It's hard to care about someone whose future lies in produce sitting on a dock in Sierra Leone.
The viewer will instantly side with MacDowell, whose natural beauty is augmented here by a feisty violent streak whenever Malkovich steps over the line (which is frequent). In addition to Davidovich, Davies, Ackland, officious hotel dick Bill Paterson and no-nonsense insurance inspector Jack Shepherd turn in pro turns.
Filmmaker Michael Lindsay-Hogg, whose diverse credits range from the Beatles' "Let It Be" to farce ("Nasty Habits"), develops effective individual scenes but fails to create a reason for sustained interest in his characters. Result is a mildly diverting but empty picture. Daid Watkin, whose experience in the genre dates back to Richard Lester's classic "The Knack", has photographed the deceptively carefree setting with aplomb.
