Susan Lucci and David Charvet in Seduced and Betrayed
Susan Lucci’s no stranger to adulterous affairs in TV movies, but there’s a twist in Seduced and Betrayed (1995)—Lucci goes full psycho. In The Woman Who Sinned and Between Love and Hate, it’s the scorned other man who seeks his revenge. In Blood on Her Hands, she’s a schemer content to let others do her dirty work. But in Seduced and Betrayed, there’s no outsourcing. She’s as determined to claim David Charvet for herself as she was to ruin Christmas in Ebbie.
Take a deep breath and prepare to clutch your pearls, because you will not believe what Jean Smart’s handsome doctor husband is up to in the 1998 Lifetime movie Change of Heart. I’ll give you a hint: it involves long-buried feelings and a penis not his own. This will be a long one (no pun intended) since gay made-for-TV movies were still quite a novelty in the ’90s.
Jennie Garth will not be ignored in An Unfinished Affair.
Here we go again with Tim Matheson and adultery. Having learned nothing from all the rampant infidelity that claimed no fewer than three lives in The Woman Who Sinned, his Alex Connor in An Unfinished Affair (1996) didn’t just mess around on any wife, he cheated on a woman dying of cancer. His biggest mistake is also his greatest joy: she miraculously, as he calls it, recovered.
“I know I need to put on some more weight, but at least I didn’t lose my hair,” Cynthia (Leigh Taylor-Young) sheepishly tells him during one of their scenes of domestic idyll. He couldn’t be happier to have his wife back and has even decided to give up a teaching side gig to rededicate himself to marriage. Pleased, Cynthia admits, “I know it’s selfish but I want you all to myself.”
Tim Matheson is keeping some painful secrets from Leigh Taylor-Young in An Unfinished Affair.
Does it make a ton of sense why he chose to scratch the teaching itch during the time he was most convinced his wife’s death was imminent? Of course not. But this is an exceptionally lazy screenplay (credited to Rama Laurie Stanger, later of Lifetime’s House of Versace, and Dan Witt) in need of a way to introduce the other woman, Sheila Hart (Jennie Garth), a graphic designer who took his class.
Jack Wagner has dangerous abandonment issues in Lady Killer.
We might as well get this out of the way here: I consider Judith Light the Maria Falconetti of American made-for-TV movies. She is without peer. No matter the limitations (or excesses) of the material or her costars, her performances tend to be tiny marvels of subtlety, sympathy and generosity. Lady Killer (1995) is only the second of her films I’ve reviewed here, after A Strange Affair (1996), and it’s easily one of my least favorite of hers, but no matter how silly it might sound to the uninitiated, she genuinely elevates the medium.
Here she stars as Janice Mitchell, a homemaker who spends more time in the company of her therapist than with her workaholic husband Ross (Ben Masters) and co-ed daughter Sharon (Tracey Gold). Ross is usually overseas and with Sharon away at school, Janice is lonely and directionless. For fun she takes architectural tours, which is how she meets Guy Elliman (Jack Wagner), a self-described sometime architect whose voluminous hair suggests the balance of his time is spent deep conditioning.
Philip Casnoff is one of many pawns in Susan Lucci’s game.
All My Children legend Susan Lucci’s long and not-so-illustrious career in TV movies (dating back to 1984’s Invitation to Hell, which we’ll get to eventually) was running on fumes by the Miracle at Christmas: Ebbie’s Story era of the mid-’90s. Its last gasp (to date — you know how soap actors love to reanimate the dead) came in 1998 with Blood on Her Hands, the perfunctory tale of a seductive schemer who leaves a trail of ruined men in her wake.
Unlike her character in 1991’s The Woman Who Sinned, Lucci’s Isabelle Collins is not a reluctant adulteress. She embraces the role with gusto, expertly fanning her cuckolded husband’s suspicions and taunting him with thinly veiled banter she knows will provoke a reaction. Stewart (John O’Hurley), an ill-tempered venture capitalist whose hobbies include golf and domestic violence, is happy to comply. A typical nasty exchange goes like this:
Judith Light and William Russ in A Strange Affair (1996).
Adjust your elegantly styled wigs, for we’re about to delve into a scandalous Judith Light romance that’s one of the better TV movies I’ve reviewed here so far, even though no one sleeps with danger or impregnates a nun played by Kristy McNichol. What we have instead is a good old-fashioned tale of a long-suffering wife, Lisa (Light), whose philandering husband, Eric (Jay Thomas), has a debilitating stroke just hours after she finally leaves him. Oh, and the new lover, Art (William Russ), who patiently helps her provide in-home care for her estranged husband even as they’re shunned by friends and family because of their unconventional arrangement.
As Felix Unger taught us lo those many years ago, when you assume you make an ass out of you and me. Reader, here I confess that I made an ass out of us all with this one. After watching Susan Lucci in The Woman Who Sinned, I noticed In Her Defense, another title with a similar plot (adultery, murder, legal jeopardy). It starred Marlee Matlin and Michael Dudikoff, who played the schmuck with whom Lucci sinned, and I thought maybe the films would make a decent double feature.
How wrong I was! By the time I realized this was not a campy TV movie of the week but dreary Canadian direct-to-cable-or-video dreck, I’d invested enough time in watching it that I didn’t want to scrap the whole thing. Gird your loins if you plan to continue reading, because this was brutally bad. Its saving grace was a half-baked lesbian twist that, despite feeling somewhat random, was less than surprising to anyone who has seen Basic Instinct.
Susan Lucci and Tim Matheson are on the outside of their marriage looking in.
First thing’s first: The Woman Who Sinned, a 1991 TV movie that bravely asks the question, Is it okay to cheat if you’re married to Tim Matheson?, is no Miracle at Christmas: Ebbie’s Story (1995). Few films are. If you’re here for Taran Noah Smith’s Tiny Tim singing a Christmas carol while Susan Lucci’s a raging asshole to everyone, you’re out of luck. If you’re here for endless scenes of Lucci crying and a few seconds of Matheson fresh from a swim, you’re in the right place.
What we have here, mostly, is adultery. Adultery as far as the eye can see. And, to keep things lively, the occasional murder. Lucci is Victoria Robeson, a gallery owner whose best friend, author Jane (Lenore Kasdorf), is an outspoken proponent of extramarital affairs. When Victoria is uncharacteristically tempted to have one of her own, Jane is full of encouragement. And when that tryst with Evan Ganns (Michael Dudikoff, In Her Defense) ends poorly, Jane winds up dead—and Victoria’s wrongfully accused of the crime.
When I think about the 1980s and its enduring cinematic celebrations of the decade’s twin passions of aerobics and bad taste, Just Between Friends, a Mary Tyler Moore vanity project from hell, outranks even Perfect. That James Bridges film, in which Jamie Lee Curtis and John Travolta gyrate their way to cardiovascular fitness—and love—will one day earn a post of its own, but today we probe the shameless and admittedly shallow depths of Just Between Friends.
A modest, unintentionally mortifying monument to the self-obsession of celebrity, here we have a film starring Mary Tyler Moore that was written, directed and produced—under the auspices of her MTM Productions—by Allan Burns of Mary Tyler Moore Show fame. (He also penned the Kristy McNichol vehicle Just the Way You Are.) Much of that classic sitcom’s finest humor sprang from its sly, playful framing of arrogant characters. There’s arrogance to spare in Just Between Friends, but the filmmakers don’t realize it’s their own, or that it’s funny.
