Very much of its time and not only because it focuses on a number of dippy US 70s fads like est (beat here) when viewed today Semi-Tough is something of an oddity. Early on, a minor character enquires of Reynold's amiable football-playing jock something about why he plays and his answer (something to do with black men and showers that would probably be enough to get my IMDb account deleted were I to repeat it verbatim) was actually quite shocking. Now I'm not sure whether this is because of its content or because it's a throwaway line spoken by the 'hero' in a mainstream Hollywood movie. I'm not saying thoughtless racial references are to be missed, but it made me quite wistful for a time when people weren't so quick (and seemingly keen) to be offended. It was certainly the only time my interest was piqued.
Apparently the film is based (loosely) on a laugh-a-page novel. If that's the case, most of the laughs obviously stayed on the printed page because they definitely didn't make it to onto the screen. I smiled once or twice, but that was it. Jill Clayburgh seems to be completely out of her depth (if the word depth can be applied to a film like this) and there's something a little disturbing about hearing those Anglo-Saxon expletives issuing from her demure features. She certainly doesn't seem the flighty type to inflame the passions of such macho characters as Reynolds and Kristofferson.
Kristofferson is outshone in every department by good-ol'-boy Burt, which is a pretty damning statement when you think about it. There just doesn't seem to be any vitality about the man, and he mostly drifts through his scenes with an expression of serene disinterest an expression I shared with him for most of this film's running time, especially the overlong est-whitewashing sequence which appeared to be one long run-in to Reynold's mildly amusing peeing-in-a-flask gag.
Apparently the film is based (loosely) on a laugh-a-page novel. If that's the case, most of the laughs obviously stayed on the printed page because they definitely didn't make it to onto the screen. I smiled once or twice, but that was it. Jill Clayburgh seems to be completely out of her depth (if the word depth can be applied to a film like this) and there's something a little disturbing about hearing those Anglo-Saxon expletives issuing from her demure features. She certainly doesn't seem the flighty type to inflame the passions of such macho characters as Reynolds and Kristofferson.
Kristofferson is outshone in every department by good-ol'-boy Burt, which is a pretty damning statement when you think about it. There just doesn't seem to be any vitality about the man, and he mostly drifts through his scenes with an expression of serene disinterest an expression I shared with him for most of this film's running time, especially the overlong est-whitewashing sequence which appeared to be one long run-in to Reynold's mildly amusing peeing-in-a-flask gag.