Portnoy's Complaint

Boring, pointless movie about a neurotic man (Richard Benjamin) and his relationship with his overbearing mother (Lee Grant) and with a pretty strange woman (Karen Black).

I heard this was considered a very dirty movie back in 1972 for its language and subject matter (especially all the talk about masturbation). It's hard to believe that now--most of the material here is done on TV today with no problem! This is very much a product of its time--the sexual politics and issues dealt with here are done in a very 1970s manner. When you have John Carradine play the voice of God you KNOW you're in trouble!

I've never read the book this was based on so I can't say how faithful this is--but what remains is a pointless, boring and stupid movie. Benjamin's nonstop whining gets annoying pretty quick and he's completely miscast. Grant is (surprisingly) not that good either and is also miscast. There's a dinner table sequence that (I suppose) is supposed to be funny involving them but it comes off as being pretty sick. The only actor that is any good here is Karen Black as "Monkey". She single-handedly saves this movie from being totally unbearable. She's the only reason I give this a 3.

This is a dated, pointless 1970s movie that's rightfully forgotten. You might like it if you're into 70s movies that deal with sexual politics. I give this a 3.

Overall not a terrible movie--but it drags on more than one occasion and the NY jewish schtick is cliched and overdone. Very dated and too much like a sit-com at times, but worth it to see a scorching hot Karen Black and neurotic Richard Benjamin at his peak.

Whoa! I've heard of some screwed up people, but Alexander Portnoy (Richard Benjamin) belongs in a class on his own. Through a session with his psychiatrist, he tells the story of how his overbearing mother (Lee Grant) kept a little bit too tight a rein on his sexuality during his formative years, and he ended up with a mangled view of relationships. He dates a number of women, but none of them work out. As Alexander says at one point: "I'm living my life as a Jewish joke."

The sad part is, much what happens in "Portnoy's Complaint" probably really happened. Philip Roth's two most famous novels (the other one was "Goodbye, Columbus") both dealt with Jewish neurosis. Alexander's mother is truly the sort of mother whom no one wants to have (she takes a certain bizarre interest in the results of people's bodily functions). Some people may wonder why they made this into a movie, but it definitely shows a side of life that we too often forget about. And anyway, regardless of one's opinion of it, "Portnoy's Complaint" is a much more justifiable movie than "Independence Day" or Bio-Dome".

I usually dislike movies based on famous novels. This one is funny, bold and deep, yet the critics think it's trash. My criticism of the movie is that it didn't go far enough. Richard Benjamin is terribly miscast. He is far too handsome, patrician and cool. He belongs in a country club, hunting foxes. They should have picked a homelier, less serene type. The action should have been less restrained and "tasteful". They should have laid it on thick, used more camp. At times the film looked like a Ross Hunter production!!! It was too nice and smooth. But despite these major insufficiencies, it is one of the better films ever made. I must read the novel. But how can I do that, given my vow never to read fiction again?

This movie was bold for its time, especially in its use of "bad" language, and it still looks good. Some modern reviewers wrote things like this: "Amazing that anyone had the nerve to attempt to translate Philip Roth's infamous novel to the screen. The neurotic Jewish boy, who has a strange relationship with his mother and an obsession with sex, should be neutered. It's worth viewing only as a curiosity." (Mick Martin and Marsha Porter, Video Movie Guide, 2002.) But the film is much more than an historical curiosity. It also throws a revealing light on the mores of only a generation ago -- what was shocking then, is no longer so, despite hypersensitive writers like Martin and Porter.