This broad sex farce fell through the cracks in late 2001, despite an outstanding pedigree; it was produced by the great Alain Sarde (The Pianist, Vera Drake), helmed by the gifted John McNaughton (Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, Mad Dog and Glory), and scored by George Clinton, and sports a first-rate cast including James Spader, Bill Murray, Melora Walters and Catherine O'Hara. That sounds like a surefire commercial home run, but the movie never received a proper U. S. theatrical release.
Though it isn't difficult to see why French producers initially greenlit the project, it's also likely that the wall-to-wall explicit dialogue and subject matter may have scared off U. S. distribs. The movie is so gleefully raunchy and lewd that it feels like a relic of the 70s - it has the same open-armed embrace of freewheeling sexuality that comedies like John Byrum's Inserts and Bertrand Blier's Calmos did - lots of droll talk about sexual anatomy and orgasms and technique.
For those viewers willing to run with this, Speaking has a promising setup and numerous belly laughs during its first 70 minutes or so, and a couple of plum performances - one by Spader, as a harried, sexually starved therapist, another by Murray as a sleazy, toupé-wearing attorney - the kind of scuzzbucket who might later specialize in defending Me Too predators. These two are a joy to watch. Walters also does first-rate work as a sweet but naive housewife, swimming way out of her depth with these sharks. And some of the same McNaughton directorial gifts that were on display in Henry and Mad Dog and Glory manifest here - particularly his sneaky and subtle way of visually establishing character. Another bonus: his clever approach to filming Spader and Walters's first tryst, which includes witty smash cuts to screaming African masks at the point of climax.
Initially, we may feel we're in for a home run with this picture. But after the first hour, the material begins to lose steam. Two recurring jokes - one involving a couple of cutesy poo euphemisms for genitalia and another about the Spader character's masterful sexual technique - may earn a smile the first time, but get repeated ad infinitum. On top of this, none of the final narrative reversals work at all. The third act feels as if it may have been cut, given a hastily introduced and abandoned thread about the sexual commercial exploitation of Walters's character that leaves a rancid taste in our mouths.
I wouldn't necessarily discourage anyone from seeing this - the film isn't a total wash, and it has its pleasures. But it falls short of the greatness of Henry and Mad Dog and eventually wears out its welcome.
