Wife-swapping plotlines always sound as if they’d be better off as part of a Kids in the Hall sketch, but director Pakula has managed to rise above the wink-wink, nudge-nudge confines of the notion and create a swiftly-paced thriller that packs a solid punch. When husband and wife team Kline and Mastrantonio hit if off exceptionally well with new neighbors Spacey and Rebecca Miller, it seems just the thing to spice up their bland, 14-year marriage. Spacey, it seems, is a financial adviser with a penchant for risky behavior — cigarette boats, motorcycles, and insurance fraud are just a few of the items in his macho bag of tricks and when he notices how well his wife and Kline are hitting it off, he proposes that they sneak into one another’s houses one night — just for kicks, natch — and see if anyone notices. All goes well until Spacey’s wife turns up with most of her face missing the next day and Kline’s fingerprints are found all over a bloody Louisville Slugger. Spacey’s borderline-sleazy bon vivant has framed his unwitting neighbor so cleverly that Mastrantonio immediately begins divorce proceedings and even Kline’s lawyer (E.G. Marshall in a wonderfully cantankerous performance) has a hard time believing his client. Consenting Adults moves along with a subtle surety toward a violent conclusion that you may or may not see coming — depending on how much of a mystery/thriller fan you are. Despite Pakula’s steady hand, the film occasionally gets ahead of itself, rubbing the viewer’s nose in the obvious and going to unnecessary lengths to keep you guessing — it seem forced at times. Still, Kline and Spacey are excellent here, playing off of each other like a couple of professional combatants; it’s by far the most interesting thriller in the last six months.
This article appears in October 23 • 1992 (Cover).