An Unmarried Woman: Reviewed

Sometimes it’s hard to be open minded, particularly with films whose politics and social polemics seem so, not outdated, but dated. It’s even worse when the film’s (contentious) philosophies are not supplemented by valiant direction and technical work. Here, I am not talking about Fritz Lang’s proto-fascist Metropolis (1927), nor D. W. Griffith’s Ku Klux Klan-memorialising Birth of a Nation (1915), nor Leni Riefenstahl’s guileful Hitler-propagating Triumph of the Will (1935); all of which are imbued with a cinematic technical proficiency that now render them as ‘high art’. No, instead I am talking about Paul Mazursky’s feminist manifesto An Unmarried Woman (1978).


Belonging to the ‘reconsidered domesticity’-themed films of the windup of the New Hollywood Wave, An Unmarried Woman fits companionably with Kramer vs. Kramer (1979), The Turning Point (1977) and Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore (1974): then-contemporary women’s pictures thinly veiled as ‘radical’ feminist declarations. Through their leading women, these films entertain the view of a woman’s right to choice (in relationships, in marriage, in work) with strong conviction; yet narratively revert back to an intuitively patriarchal conception of their lives.

An Unmarried Woman starts off unsuspectingly, with Erica (Jill Clayburgh) and her husband Martin on their morning jog through the pavements and bridges of Upper East New York. There is a brief but prescient depiction of their tensioned marriage in this scene, as Martin steps on dog shit and absurdly blames Erica for wishing such a fate on him.


In the beginning, we are shown their relatively sunny domesticity, and so it comes all the more abrupt when Martin breaks the news that he’s fallen for a (younger) woman. Michael Murphy delivers quite a solid performance here, imbuing humanity and understanding into this pivotal character – on paper, it seems that he’s been written off as a one-dimensional dickhead and, indeed, he could’ve very much played to the audience's expectations, but something in Murphy’s acting chops seriously uplifts and affords credibility to the picture. I could fathom the pain, shame and confusion in his confession/declaration to Erica that he’s fallen for another – simultaneously crying and chuckling. Later on, I even sympathise with his query of how Erica could not love him anymore after sixteen years together (regardless of the extra-marital affair and his subsequent jettison). I feel that the build up of these moments makes his final plea to Erica to take him back (after his new girlfriend dumps him) and exonerate his behaviours as the workings of a “sick person” all the more heartbreaking. I did not expect such a performance to exist here – from the way the film had been marketed, it seems to be all eyes on Erica/Jill Clayburgh. Murphy’s performance is similar to Meryl Streep’s Academy Award-winning performance in Kramer vs. Kramer as the villainous half of the wedded couple, only I feel that Murphy’s performance is a feat more unique, as we hardly ever see men being “weak”, of men walking away and confessing their flaws. Moreover, Murphy’s performance is also rather subtle – you try to hate him, but seeing the way the whole domestically hapless situation also takes a toll on him, only makes him more relatable and human.


Jill Clayburgh, who won the prestigious 1978 Cannes Best Actress Prize (tying with Isabelle Huppert in Violette Noziere) and an Academy Award Best Actress nomination for this role, is likable, endearing and sympathetic, but what ultimately prevents the performance from being fully developed, is the emotional disequilibrium that spans between her and her character. Considering she had won Cannes, I thought her performance would have been all-immersive, rather it seems that she’s just going through the motions. [*Not saying that histrionic, all-immersive acting is the ‘best’ acting, but there is very much a historical trend with Cannes Best Actress winners to tend towards that style of acting]. Even when Clayburgh is enacting out Erica’s suppressed secrets and fears in a therapy session, it just didn't seem to resonate truthfully with me. Hence, this has led me to believe that Clayburgh and her star vehicle film garnered much of its praise due to the film's then-politically-progressive feminist standpoint; its raison d'être was to show that a woman can, and should, continue living even when confronted with divorce at age 35-45; that now in the 1970s America, times have changed and a woman will survive without a man! She will survive and make it until she meets a sexy British painter (the ever charming and sexy Alan Bates) who also happens to be extremely rich and who’ll sweep her off her feat.


Lastly, look out for the very famous impromptu underpants Ballet simulation dance by Jill Clayburgh early on. It’s come to symbolise both her as a charming and lovable actress and the film.