Amy's Orgasm

Julie Davis' story is fresh and amusing.

Davis has energy, but she doesn't bother to make her heroine's book sound convincing, the gender-war ideas original, or the comic scenes fly. Instead, the film is buttressed by song montages and jokey chapter titles.

This movie is Ms. Davis's fourth film as a director, and she has a bright, chipper style that keeps things moving, while never quite managing to connect her wish-fulfilling characters to the human race. Like someone who smiles too much, Amy's Orgasm seems rather sad at heart.

Davis not only wrote and directed the film but edited it as well, all of which is no mean feat. Too bad she couldn't have lent some of her own gumption and self-assurance to her pathetic heroine.

It's supposed to be post-feminist breezy but ends up as tedious as the chatter of parrots raised on Oprah.

There's definitely room for a female Woody Allen, an accolade garnered by a previous film. However, Amy's Orgasm is chirpy, shrill and coarse, more in the vein of one of Allen's more depressed periods.

There's a bright spot in the form of Amy's publicist (screen veteran Aaron), a salty, whiskey-voiced lesbian; it's a pity the movie isn't about her.