'I've heard of the sexual revolution, but I've never had it sit down so close to me,' says comfortably married Natalie Wood, shuddering at the memory of Valerie Harper casually mentioning that she'd had her most private part tightened. But fear not for Natalie: the sexual revolution gets no closer, and America's last married couple (Wood and Segal) survive all threats and end up happily munching hamburgers with their kids. But it's a hollow victory. Throughout, the film's support for old-fashioned morality is as thinly felt as its sour ridicule of the new permissiveness. Wood's comic style always was of the galumphing kind, but even Segal loses his potency with this material. Luckily some of their friends and neighbours show more life (Richard Benjamin's manic depressive in particular), but the only word to describe the film is horrible.