July 12, 2002 | What Eric Schaeffer has accomplished with Never Again may not, strictly speaking, qualify as revolutionary. But it's defiantly and delightfully against the grain. Blithely ignoring contemporary trends and conventional wisdom in regard to what constitutes a commercially viable project, he has dared to make a romantic comedy that isn't aimed primarily at teens and twentysomethings, and actually showcases lead actors – Jill Clayburgh and Jeffrey Tambor -- who are old enough to play parents in most other recent movie romances.

Credit Schaeffer for making a quantum leap from his usual run of comedies about slackers-turned-moviemakers (My Life’s in Turnaround) or unlucky-in-love twentysomethings (If Lucy Fell). And praise Clayburgh and Tambor, perfectly cast as commitment-shy New Yorkers who can’t help falling love, despite their best efforts and worst expectations. 

We meet Christopher Rowland (Tambour), a soft-spoken pest exterminator who moonlights as a jazz musician, just before he takes a tentative walk on the wild side. He has never managed to sustain a long-term relationship, and usually ends affairs before too many strings are attached. Much to his embarrassment, he's unable to perform during a one-night stand with a younger woman. Later in the evening, he has an ambiguous dream about a hunky stud. That’s all it takes for Christopher to start wondering whether, hey, maybe he's been shopping on the wrong side of the street.

More befuddled and curious than lustful or fearful, Christopher attempts to interface with a transsexual prostitute (played with fey mischievousness by Michael McKean). And when that doesn't work, he tries his luck at a gay bar. Which, in the world according to Never Again, is precisely the right place for a guy to meet the woman of his dreams.

Divorcee Grace Minor (Clayburgh) is underemployed as a social worker, and unfulfilled as a sexually responsive woman. More lonely than usual after sending her daughter off to college, she reluctantly accepts a blind date. But the first meeting is such a fiasco, she flees to the closest nearby bar. Thus, Grace is in the right place at the right time to meet Christopher.

Right from the start, they vow to maintain a casual, no-strings relationship. But their resolve begins to melt shortly after they get horizontal and discover, much to their astonished delight, how sexually compatible they are. To his credit, Schaeffer doesn’t try to wring cheap laughs from the exuberant copulating of his frisky fiftysomethings. (Maybe he's acutely empathetic because, last January, he turned 40.) If the audience guffaws, that’s only because we’re invited to share the joy of the couple’s rediscovery.

Grace appears particularly radiant, whether she’s rolling and tumbling with Christopher or discussing him with her intimates. During a pointedly funny scene in a beauty parlor, Grace regales her girlfriends with a graphically detailed account of Christopher’s prowess. A younger woman overhears the conversation, and voices disapproval of such salty chatter by older folks. Not surprisingly she’s squelched with a few well-aimed wisecracks.

An even funnier scene – indeed, a scene of such artfully sustained hilarity, it’s probably an instant classic – is prompted by the couple’s experimentation with kinky accessories. Grace impulsively dons an immense rubber phallus just before Christopher drops by at lunchtime.

Unfortunately, Christopher shows up with his mother.

Even more unfortunately, Grace can’t remove the prop, and can barely hide it.

It's not entirely startling to find these naughty bits in a comedy by Eric Schaeffer – remember, this is the same guy who had characters talking about anal stimulation in My Life’s in Turnaround – but it's pleasantly surprisingly to find such a unforced, almost throwaway quality to the raunchy stuff here. In a similar vein, there's something wonderfully refreshing about the movie's matter-of-fact, no-big-deal rendering of sexually active people in their 50s. I mean, gosh, you'd think this was a French-produced comedy of manners, not an all-American laugh riot.

Clayburgh is sensationally appealing as Grace, who can be viewed as an older but wiser variation of the actress' signature role in An Unmarried Woman. Inevitably, Never Again tries to delay the happily-ever-aftering by manufacturing a break-up before a last-minute make-up. And even though Schaeffer strives to freshen this stale convention, his trickery only underscores the artificiality of the plot mechanics. But never mind: Clayburgh handles the teary emotional rigors of the temporary separation as deftly as she glides through the funny business.

Tambor flavors his delightfully droll performance with a touch of melancholy, suggesting more sadness than cowardice when Christopher wonders if his affair with Grace is too good to last. During lighter moments with Clayburgh, he evidences a teddy-bearish charisma and perfect-pitch comic timing. And he develops a dryly witty give-and-take with co-star Bill Duke as Earl, Christopher’s best friend and jazz partner.

It's worth noting, by the way, that when Christopher shares doubts about his sexual orientation, Earl is skeptical but nonjudgmental. If, as Never Again strongly suggests, finding a perfectly attuned lover is the most important thing in the world, having a sympathetic and uncritical friend must run a close second.