Think about 1970 for a second. Cinema was changing. The old studio system was gasping for air while the "New Hollywood" rebels—the Scorceses and Coppolas—were starting to kick down the doors. In the middle of this chaos, Barbra Streisand, fresh off the massive, traditional success of Funny Girl and the somewhat bloated Hello, Dolly!, decided to do something that weirded everyone out. She took a role as a foul-mouthed, aspiring "model/actress" (who was actually a sex worker) in a gritty, fast-talking romantic comedy called The Owl and the Pussycat.
It was a pivot. A big one.
People today mostly remember Streisand for the G-rated musical spectacles or the late-career ballads. But if you haven't seen her go toe-to-toe with George Segal in this movie, you're missing the moment she proved she could be a contemporary screen presence, not just a Broadway transplant. It’s loud. It’s abrasive. Honestly, it’s one of the few times you see a 1970s rom-com that actually feels like two people living in a cramped, shitty New York apartment.
Breaking the "Musical Star" Mold
Streisand was already a titan by the time production started. However, the industry was skeptical about whether her "Brooklyn-ness" and intense energy would translate to a non-musical, R-rated environment. Remember, The Owl and the Pussycat wasn't some sanitized studio project. It was based on a play by Bill Manhoff and adapted for the screen by Buck Henry. Yes, that Buck Henry—the guy who co-wrote The Graduate and helped create Get Smart.
Henry’s script was sharp. It was jagged. It required a lead who could talk at 100 miles per hour without losing the emotional thread. Streisand played Doris, a woman who gets kicked out of her apartment because her neighbor, Felix (played by George Segal), complained to the landlord about her "gentlemen callers."
What follows isn't a "meet-cute." It’s a "meet-hostile."
Doris storms into Felix's apartment in the middle of the night, wearing a see-through negligee with giant pink hearts over the breasts, and demands a place to stay. It’s ridiculous. It’s iconic. But more importantly, it allowed Streisand to use her natural New York cadence in a way that felt authentic rather than theatrical. She wasn't singing for her supper here; she was screaming for her dignity.
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The George Segal Chemistry Experiment
You can’t talk about this movie without talking about George Segal. He played the "Owl"—a repressed, pretentious bookstore clerk who thinks he’s an intellectual giant. Segal was the perfect foil for Streisand's "Pussycat."
Their chemistry worked because they weren't trying to be "likable" in the traditional sense. Felix is a snob. Doris is uneducated and defensive. Most of the movie is just the two of them trapped in a room, arguing about semantics and class. It’s basically a high-speed verbal tennis match.
There’s a specific scene where they’re in a bathtub together—don’t worry, it’s more awkward than erotic—and the dialogue is so fast you almost need subtitles. They overlap. They interrupt. They genuinely seem to annoy one another. Critics at the time, like Roger Ebert, actually noted that the film's strength was that it didn't rely on the "will-they-won't-they" trope. It relied on "can-they-survive-each-other."
Segal’s ability to play the "straight man" to Streisand’s whirlwind energy is what keeps the film from spinning off into total camp. He grounds it. He makes the "Owl" part of the equation matter.
The Controversy You Probably Forgot
Believe it or not, The Owl and the Pussycat was a bit of a scandal. Aside from the heavy profanity—which was a departure for Barbra—there was a "nude" scene. Or, at least, there was supposed to be.
Streisand actually filmed a topless scene for the movie. This was a huge deal in 1970. The "Greatest Star" going bare? The tabloids went wild. But in a move that defined her career-long quest for creative control, she eventually decided she didn't like it. She felt it didn't fit the character's journey or the tone of the film.
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She fought to have it cut.
The studio wasn't thrilled. They knew that a glimpse of Streisand in the buff would sell tickets. But Barbra won. The scene stayed on the cutting room floor, though a few production stills leaked to magazines like Playboy later on. It’s a fascinating footnote because it shows that even early on, Streisand wasn't just an actress for hire. She was a producer in spirit, guarding her image and the integrity of the story.
Why the Film Still Holds Up (and Why It Doesn't)
If you watch the movie now, some parts feel dated. The "hooker with a heart of gold" trope is a bit tired. The way Felix treats Doris can be condescending in a way that grates on modern sensibilities.
But.
The energy is undeniable. In an era where modern rom-coms feel like they’ve been processed through a corporate blender, The Owl and the Pussycat feels alive. It’s messy. The cinematography by Andrew Laszlo captures a gritty, grey New York City that doesn't exist anymore. It’s a time capsule of a city on the edge of a nervous breakdown.
Also, the fashion. My god, the fashion. Doris’s wardrobe is a fever dream of 1970s kitsch. The heart-printed outfit, the towering wigs, the heavy eyeliner—it’s a masterclass in "more is more."
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The Financial Reality
The movie was a smash. Let's look at the numbers because they tell a story of their own.
It earned roughly $11.6 million in North American rentals (which was a lot in 1970 money). It was the 10th highest-grossing film of the year. This was the proof the industry needed: Barbra Streisand didn't need a Broadway score to carry a film. She could carry a movie just by talking. It paved the way for her to do What's Up, Doc? and The Way We Were later in the decade.
Without the success of this weird little comedy about a cranky writer and a prostitute, we might never have gotten the "Serious Actor" version of Streisand. It gave her the leverage to start her own production company, Barwood Films, and eventually direct her own features.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Cinephiles
If you’re looking to dive back into this era of Streisand’s career, don't just stop at the highlights. To truly appreciate what she did in The Owl and the Pussycat, you should approach it with a bit of context.
- Watch it as a "Stage-to-Screen" Study: Look at how Buck Henry expanded the play. The play only had two characters. The movie adds a whole world around them, but the core remains an intimate, two-person character study.
- Compare it to "What's Up, Doc?": If you watch these two back-to-back, you see Streisand's incredible range in comedy. Owl is gritty and verbal; Doc is slapstick and screwball.
- Listen to the Soundtrack: It’s unique. Instead of songs, the "soundtrack" album featured long stretches of dialogue from the movie set to music by Blood, Sweat & Tears. It’s a very 70s concept that you rarely see today.
- Check Out the Original Play: If you can find a copy of Bill Manhoff's script, it’s worth reading to see how much of the "Doris" personality was on the page versus how much Barbra brought to the table (spoiler: she brought a lot).
The film remains a testament to a specific moment in Hollywood history when stars were allowed to be "difficult," "loud," and "unconventional." Doris wasn't a girl-next-door. She was the girl-down-the-hall-who-kept-you-up-at-night. And thanks to Streisand, she’s unforgettable.
For those wanting to experience this firsthand, the film is frequently available on major streaming platforms like Amazon Prime or Apple TV for rent. It’s a 96-minute masterclass in comic timing that reminds us why Streisand became an EGOT winner. Pay attention to the final scene in Central Park—it’s one of the most honest depictions of two people realizing they might actually like each other, despite their best efforts not to.