"Two great comedians mired in a horrible and infantile sex comedy."
That I don't mercilessly thrash this malingering dungheap as it clearly deserves is a testament to two veteran comedians: Billy Murray and Cathy O'Hara pop up late in this horrible sex farce and actually manage to earn some laughs. Aside from those two doing everything under the sun to bring some real humor to this terrible movie, there's nothing to see here that's even remotely worthy of note. Unless you really hate Melora Walters or James Spader and you're itchin' to see their worst performances to date.Clearly under the mistaken impression that flaccid weiner jokes are the pinnacle of all things amusing, formerly reliable filmmaker John McNaughton (Wild Things, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, Mad Dog and Glory) manages to corral a fantastic cast (on paper anyway) into appearing in one of the most peurile and sophomoric sex comedies in many a moon.
Walters and Mohr play a moronic married couple on the rocks. Mohr can't get an erection. The audience knows this because the stammering idiot's wilted willie is the subject of approximately 68% of the movie's "jokes". So off the couple goes to see therapist Lara Flynn Boyle. Boyle sends them to fellow therapist Spader. Spader has sex with Walters in an elevator, thereby beginning an unending vicious cycle of adultery, betrayals and limp dick jokes. And the schtick goes on about two acts too long. Rare is the 85-minute sex farce that feels like a prison sentence.
The main problem with this flick (among many) is that every actor onscreen (save the ever-cool pros Murray and O'Hara) are mugging and stuttering and stumbling and shrieking and doing basically everything possible to create the most infuriatingly annoying movie characters since the creation of man-made light.
Spader, an actor I nearly always enjoy watching, is horribly skittish and frustrating to watch, while the overwhelmingly unwatchable Melora Walters delivers her every line in a breathy squeak that recalls Betty Boop on lithium. And these are the leads; as in they're in every scene. Jay Mohr and Megan Mullally humiliate themselves only slghtly less convincingly, mainly because they have notably less screen time.
By the time Bill Murray and Catherine O'Hara show up (as two conniving puppet-masters), you'll be knee-deep in your own hatred for this movie. That the pair somehow earn some laughs only makes one pissed that they weren't the stars of the film.Pandering, simpering and altogether obsessed with the basest forms of anatomical scatology, Speaking of Sex is one of the worst comedies I've ever seen that (annoyingly enough) features two great comedians wasting their talents for no good reason. Fans of this movie's only two assets will find a few laughs, but they're not nearly enough to keep this wretched flick afloat.