Gere in the women, in their wombs

Dr. T (Richard Gere) spends his life in the company of women: his wife, daughters, sister-in-law; his secretaries and his patients at the gynecology clinic; the assistant golf coach at the country club. Yet far from getting sick of women, he worships them. "Women by nature are like saints," he explains to his hunting buddies, a crass dumb-and-dumber trio of rich skeezballs who think that you'll go bald if you sleep with a woman who's horny on a first date. And asked to reveal the secret behind nailing golf balls with his shotgun at a hundred yards, he strokes his expensive gun and comes out with, "Never take a good woman for granted."

COURTESY ARTISAN Dr. T, hunting for Helen.

It's too bad for Dr. T that he is such a knight in shining armor, because the women in Dallas don't want that kind of man. If they want men at all, they also demand independence, or love that's less intense, less constricting. So, the hapless doctor spends the movie being tossed from one unpleasant revelation to the next. The three plot threads each lead him down boringly predictable paths; each schematic and contrived part does its bit to build up the "meaning."

Fortunately, Dr. T & The Women takes leisurely breaks from philosophizing in order, for example, to survey the hysterical rush of Dr. T's waiting room with a calm and leisurely eye. These scenes, though they drag on for too long, are funny and grotesquely fascinating. Old ladies in wide-brimmed black hats hand out unsolicited advice like the obnoxious fundamentalists that they are. Bird women with bountiful plumage and chickadee struts blow in, toss fake smiles around with Ms. Manners friendliness, and perch on furniture edges. The hypochondriac, all dolled up like a widow wannabe, sucks on her cigarette and viciously curses the receptionist. Though everyone gets much too loud, there's still something delightfully weird about watching 20 or so women screaming, gossiping, blabbing, or just trying to do their job, with not a single man in sight.

The pleasure in these scenes comes from Altman's skill at painting a crowd as a collection of characters, rather than as just a nondescript mass of a shade that vaguely suggests some tone or atmosphere. His best scenes are those in which the camera's attention shifts almost continually, observing how very different people react to the same situation. There aren't enough such moments in Dr. T & The Women. Even the scenes at the reception desk, for all their liveliness, become monotonous: all of the patients are rich fools, and generally act in the same way.

Other central scenes in the movie are too often spoiled by Altman's insistence on the symbolic significance of this ritual or that character. In an early sequence, Dr. T's wife goes a bit mad at the mall, and starts cavorting naked in the local granite fountain. The camera lingers on her dance, the music surges—meaning, meaning! Toward the end of the film, the same sort of thing happens. Dr. T's daughter Connie (Lara Reid) is getting married; she and her bridesmaid are getting fitted for their wedding dresses. Both are standing on pedestals, both have to hold completely still as at least a dozen tailors argue over hemlines and bone structure. Suddenly, Connie rips her dress off and runs off. She's upset for very personal reasons, but they are obscured by the excessive symbolism, and the scene is ruined.

Film

Dr. T and the Women Directed by Robert Altman Starring Richard Gere, Helen Hunt, Farrah Fawcet, Laura Dern, and Shelley Long York Square Cinema

The acting is more successful with Farrah Fawcett, who plays Dr. T's newly mad, infantile wife, gets the easy parts right—throw sideways glances and speak out of cadence and let your arms dangle loose—but tries her silliest to romanticize and prettify her character. Whether or not she resembles herself in her madness, Dr. T has a remarkably broad taste in women. His other interest, Bree (Helen Hunt)—the new assistant golf coach at the club—bears no resemblance to his wife. Whereas Fawcett's character is voluptuously beautiful, Helen Hunt (who plays Bree) is tomboyishly pretty. Bree is by far the most charming and sexy character in the movie. amd Hunt plays her with a perfect mixture of slight awkwardness in gesture and knowing coyness in inflections and facial expressions.

The whole thing is sub-par by the standard of early Altman, but still better than the pretentious crap that gets lousy directors like Paul Thomas Anderson the solemn title of Altman's successor. If you're an Altman fanatic, you'll be disappointed; if you haven't seen any of his movies, but are curious about why some people think Altman is a great director, rent Nashville instead.

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