The original film, based on Ira Levin's novel, tested the cultural waters of the
then-emerging feminist movement to dare to suggest that angry white males would
resort to creating a community of Barbie-doll wives -- robots, in fact -- to counter
fears of change in the nuclear family. Like it or not, the film was meant
as a cautionary sci-fi horror tale. The new film, written by Paul Rudnick and
directed by Frank Oz, is a midnight-movie version. Kidman plays Joanna Eberhart, an incredibly slick and emasculating executive who reigns over the EBS television network, which, judging from her presentation at an affiliates meeting, must stand for the Egregious Broadcasting System. Her nasty mix of female-dominated game shows and reality TV backfires in her face, resulting in her highly unlikely firing. Her wimpy husband Walter (Matthew Broderick) quits his post as a minor vp at the web and the whole family abruptly moves to the gated township of Stepford, Conn., to begin a new life. Only something is not quite right in suburban Stepford. The women are all cookie-cutter sex dolls, while the men, who never seem to work, loll about the Stepford Men's Association, slugging down brandy and playing adolescent games. This, Walter says, is "the way life should be." The den mother for the compliant female homemakers is Claire Wellington (Glenn Close), who along with her suave and controlling husband Mike (Christopher Walken), pretty much runs the show. Joanna's perturbed reaction to the women's cheerful domestic servitude is shared by two other newcomers: Bobbie Markowitz (Midler), brash, hip and Jewish -- making her the ultimate outsider in this WASPish community -- who writes male-bashing books, and Roger Bannister (Roger Bart), an architect trying to save a crumbling relationship with his politically conservative partner Jerry (David Marshall Grant). Because the entire audience knows what's going on, the filmmakers hope to distract viewers from storytelling weaknesses with an urgent sense of style. The decor is 1950s, only cinematographer Rob Hahn's gentle lighting softens the solid colors and rigid formalism and gives a summery feel to flowery print dresses the Stepford wives all favor. The homes are all elegant mansions with sophisticated security systems and pleasing pastels. But what is the comic point here? The film reportedly endured much rewriting, re-editing and reshooting, so there is a strong possibility the makers never addressed this before proceeding. In any event, the desire by the male characters for a retreat into '50s domestic values, while a rather obvious device, leaves the film with little wiggle room. Once the retro community gets revealed, the film stagnates. The only question is: Will the heroine be turned into a RoboJoanna by her husband? The ending is astonishingly inept. It resolves nothing and places the blame for creating this male fantasy on a woman. Say what? Kidman, having moxie and sex appeal to spare, holds the movie together while Midler is her usual fun, rambunctious self. Bart has several good moments in an Americanized version of a Rupert Everett role. It might have been fun to witness how the Stepford husbands glory in this fantasy realm, but Rudnick's script offers scant opportunities. Jon Lovitz performs uninspired clowning playing Midler's husband, and the talented Broderick is wasted in a role that is the equivalent of wallpaper. Close and Walken play caricatures of their movie selves and everyone else, including Faith Hill as a malfunctioning robot wife, looks lost. I |