Not much actually happens in this romantic comedy. George Segal is a self-styled intellectual author who doesn't write well. He ekes out a living as a clerk in Doubleday's Book Store in New York. When he espies neighbor Barbra Streisand making love and accepting some cash in exchange, he calls the building superintendent. The super throws Streisand out and she invades -- that's the word -- invades Segal's shabby digs. She's a vulgar, would-be actress, model, and occasional girl for hire.<br /><br />She raises such a fuss in Segal's apartment that the super throws both of them out. Segal takes her to the apartment of a friend, Robert Klein, but their loud arguments and queer garb (don't ask) arouse and disturb Klein and he leaves the apartment. Segal winds up in the lethal embrace of the raptorous Streisand.<br /><br />They separate unamicably for a few weeks but the encounter has taught each of them something and they have another date at the apartment of Segal's rich fiancée, a pianist. She and her family happen to be in Boston, where the fiancée is giving a performance with the Boston Symphony. In the sybaritic apartment, Streisand produces some marijuana which the bookish Segal smokes on a dare and they end up in the bath tub together. The apartment doesn't remain empty of others for long.<br /><br />It's really a familiar story of two nutty, idiosyncratic, mismatched New Yorkers, each of whom teaches the other to overcome pretensions. But it's so slickly done, adapted by Buck Henry from somebody's play, that it succeeds in a wild and uneven fashion.<br /><br />I think it might help a viewer to be at least a little familiar with the geographic and chronological milieu. I mean -- this is New York City in the late 1960s. Times Square is filled with porno shops and sleazy clothing outlets and beggars. And there is the conflict of subcultures -- the bourgeois on the one hand (Segal) and the iconoclastic on the other (Streisand). The use of grass was a daring enterprise for the middle class.<br /><br />But you don't really need to have been there to enjoy the gags. They come thick and fast, both verbal and physical. I'll give an example. During their separation, Segal is passing a dirty movie theater in Times Square (this was pre-video tape) and notices that the movie playing -- the pornographic "Cycle Sluts" -- stars Streisand. Writhing with disgust and curiosity, Segal buys a ticket and as he's passing through the lobby, an attendant asks, "Raincoat?" Segal: "I don't have a raincoat." Attendant: "You want to RENT one?" I don't particularly like Barbra Streisand's personality. She has an ego the size of Greenland. But she's phenomenal in this comic role and looks utterly pinchable too, despite that prominent proboscis. Segal is even better as the put-upon author who's work has been turned down by every publisher in New York. His role is the more difficult because he's basically the straight man, but he does wonders with it. Watch his expression when he's stoned and naked in the tub with Streisand and they hear the doors open and close as his fiancée and her family arrive unexpectedly. His face turns crimson. "You're about to meet Miss Weyderhaus," he says with a mischievous smile, as if they were two kids about to be discovered playing hookey from the third grade.<br /><br />The movie collapses on itself in the last ten minutes or so, trying to turn "serious," but only managing to achieve "off-putting." They may wind up married but I wouldn't bet on its lasting.