My review was written in October 1982 after a Midtown Manhattan screening.
"Love Child", subtitled "a true story", is a tasteful and sincere filmization of young Ohioan Terry Jean Moore's battle five years ago to have and keep her baby (fathered to a guard) while serving a 20-year robbery term in Broward Correctional Institution in Florida.
The well-made Paul Maslansky production eschews the exploitation film excesses common to the "women in prison" genre, but that means troublewhen it comes to "exploiting" this little picture as a theatrical release for Ladd Company through WB. Subsequent television chances seem better, with very little laundering needed on the R-rated film.
In a strong screen debut, freckled Amy Madigan toplines as Moore, who while hitchhiking with her wild cousin Jesse (Lewis Smith), takes the rap when Jesse robs their driver of $5 while trying to steal the car. First quarter of the film limns her route to prison, with the judge handing her a stiff 15-year rap, plus five more years when she starts a fire in jail.
Possessing a wild temper and a perennial chip on her shoulder, Moore looks headed for doom in stir. Befriended by a personable guard Jack Hansen (Beau Bridges) and a sympathetic young lesbian J. J. (Mackenzie Phillips) she adjusts and even seems en route to legal freedom. Real-life twist comes when she becomes pregnant by Hansen, who quits his job and flees Florida with his family when the truth comes out, leaving Moore holding the bag once more.
Targeting the picture squarely at a femme audience, script by Anne Gerard and Katherine Specktor emphasizes Moore's self-reform as catalyzed by her awareness of the baby growing inside her and the new responsibility it represents. A Carly Simon-warbled song over end-titles reinforces the them as the picture concludes with Moore's victory in keeping the child, raising it in prison and achieving probation.
Benefitting from location lensing on the authentic Broward County sites plus realistic, non-actor casting of extras, director Larry Peerce achieves many physically powerful scenes, but overall the film is too tame. The lesbian and racial conflicts in the prison are introduced but sidestepped.
In what amounts to nearly a one-woman show, Madigan is excellen in the physically demanding central role. Audience willingness to check out and identify with her is the key to the film's sell. Sporting a short, greased-back hairdo, Phillips is striking in support, but both her and Bridges's roles remain functional. Phillips starts off as an aggressive rival to Bridges for Madigan's romantic affection, but the script abruptly turns her into just a nice guy sounding board. More bite, (or in industry parlance, "a little more topspin") would have helped the film. Tech credits are unobtrusive.
"Love Child", subtitled "a true story", is a tasteful and sincere filmization of young Ohioan Terry Jean Moore's battle five years ago to have and keep her baby (fathered to a guard) while serving a 20-year robbery term in Broward Correctional Institution in Florida.
The well-made Paul Maslansky production eschews the exploitation film excesses common to the "women in prison" genre, but that means troublewhen it comes to "exploiting" this little picture as a theatrical release for Ladd Company through WB. Subsequent television chances seem better, with very little laundering needed on the R-rated film.
In a strong screen debut, freckled Amy Madigan toplines as Moore, who while hitchhiking with her wild cousin Jesse (Lewis Smith), takes the rap when Jesse robs their driver of $5 while trying to steal the car. First quarter of the film limns her route to prison, with the judge handing her a stiff 15-year rap, plus five more years when she starts a fire in jail.
Possessing a wild temper and a perennial chip on her shoulder, Moore looks headed for doom in stir. Befriended by a personable guard Jack Hansen (Beau Bridges) and a sympathetic young lesbian J. J. (Mackenzie Phillips) she adjusts and even seems en route to legal freedom. Real-life twist comes when she becomes pregnant by Hansen, who quits his job and flees Florida with his family when the truth comes out, leaving Moore holding the bag once more.
Targeting the picture squarely at a femme audience, script by Anne Gerard and Katherine Specktor emphasizes Moore's self-reform as catalyzed by her awareness of the baby growing inside her and the new responsibility it represents. A Carly Simon-warbled song over end-titles reinforces the them as the picture concludes with Moore's victory in keeping the child, raising it in prison and achieving probation.
Benefitting from location lensing on the authentic Broward County sites plus realistic, non-actor casting of extras, director Larry Peerce achieves many physically powerful scenes, but overall the film is too tame. The lesbian and racial conflicts in the prison are introduced but sidestepped.
In what amounts to nearly a one-woman show, Madigan is excellen in the physically demanding central role. Audience willingness to check out and identify with her is the key to the film's sell. Sporting a short, greased-back hairdo, Phillips is striking in support, but both her and Bridges's roles remain functional. Phillips starts off as an aggressive rival to Bridges for Madigan's romantic affection, but the script abruptly turns her into just a nice guy sounding board. More bite, (or in industry parlance, "a little more topspin") would have helped the film. Tech credits are unobtrusive.