Practical Magic (1998)
Director: Griffin Dunne Cast: Sandra Bullock, Nicole Kidman, Dianne Wiest, Stockard Channing, Aidan Quinn, Goran Visnjic, Evan Rachel Wood, Alexandra Artrip Screenplay: Robin Swicord, Akiva goldsman, Adam Brooks Producers: Denise Di Novi Runtime: 103 min. US Distribution: Warner Bros. Rated PG-13: some violence, intense thematic elements, sensuality
By Nathaniel R. Atcheson (nate@pyramid.net)
At the center of Practical Magic are two immensely attractive women. The two women are, of course, Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman. Both are talented actresses, and have displayed their talents in many films. Any film in which they are visible for most of its running time is, by definition, watchable. Sometimes, however, they star in films that, without their presence, would be simply unwatchable. This is the case with Practical Magic, which is a film so deeply entrenched in stupidity that I fear my IQ dropped ten points from watching it.
Practical Magic is a the cinematic equivalent of a nuclear meltdown: it's disastrous from the first shot, and it only gets worse, waving its wand of simpering senselessness over audiences until, finally, they either give up or stumble out of the theater to safety. This film gave me a headache. The bad dialogue attacked my ears. The stupid concepts assaulted my intelligence. The pointless special effects scraped at my eyes. And it's all smashed together into one big wish-I-were-witty lump by director Griffin Dune.
It's the story of two sister witches, Sally and Gillian Owens (Bullock and Kidman). The film begins with a look into the past, as "their ancestor" (as she's described) is shown to escape a hanging during the Salem witch trials, thanks to her super special powers. Flash ahead a few hundred years, and our protagonists are young girls, learning that, when they hear a certain kind of beetle squeak, then the man they love is dead (this, of course, is how their father died). So Sally wishes never to fall in love, while Gillian can't wait to do so. When the setup finally ends, we're thwarted with a formula film of such inescapable badness that I wonder if anyone was conscious during the making of the film.
Sally, as expected, wants to deny her witch heritage and raise a family. So, she meets and instantly falls in love with her husband-to-be, who promptly dies after supplying her with a couple of daughters. Gillian, on the other hand, is running around in paradise, drinking and dancing all the time. But wait! The plot synopsis isn't done! Conflicts arise when they accidentally murder Gillian's psycho boyfriend. Then, to give the film a romantic input, Aidan Quinn is introduced as an investigator looking for the psycho (who, apparently, is wanted in other cities for murder).
This is the kind of film where every element is poorly conceived; the most obvious deficiency is in the script. Adapted from the novel by Alice Hoffman, the story fails to recognize characters or plot on a comfortable level. Each character has one big trait: Sally is down-to-earth; Gillian is racy, etc. And, due to the exceptional lack of depth, story developments that are supposed to be sad and/or moving strike with no impact whatsoever (the death of Sally's first husband, for instance).
The banality of the first half is soon accentuated by the pure idiocy of the second half, which features elements from decent films like The Frighteners the The Exorcist. A good example of this is the scene in which the psycho inhabits Gillian's body for no purpose at all. When he gets himself out, he's a black-and-white shade and really really crazy (kinda like the spooks in The Frighteners). It's poorly done and derivative, but it's also pointless and unexplained. The ending sequence, which features a bunch of chanting soccer moms with brooms, is truly abhorrent, and made me cringe with hatred.
The strangest thing is that the film is totally arbitrary when it comes to the magic and the witch stuff: these women seem to have almost no powers; all they seem to be capable of is putting people to sleep. Little details -- where the magic comes from, why these women are able to use it, why the psycho comes back to life, why he keeps haunting them (I could go on and on) -- are never explained or even hinted to. But, alas, by this point, I just wanted to escape the theater. I was glad they didn't spend more time explaining.
Dunne's direction is as misguided as any I've seen this year. The film shifts gears frequently, from soft and cuddly (scenes with the children) to gooey and sentimental (all the romance junk between Bullock and Quinn) to dark and evil (the ghost scenes) to slapstick comedy (anything having to do with potions). And it wants to be so funny; there are scenes that try so hard to be edgy and wickedly clever (everything with the psycho, for instance), but they all just fall flat. It's a bubbling cauldron of elements that make no sense and don't fit together. I longed for some consistency, some idea of what the film was trying to accomplish. It fails in every way: I found none of it interesting, engrossing, or funny.
Well, I take that back. Dianne Wiest is mildly amusing as one of two aunt witches (the other is played by Stockard Channing, who just acts silly). The one scene that has a bit of life is the one in which Gillian walks in on the soccer mom meeting and says, "Hold on to your husbands, ladies!" And, of course, there are two immensely attractive women to look at. But Practical Magic is just plain bad -- a confused disaster, tedious and cloying and singularly moronic. I'm sorry that two beautiful women had to star in this example of stupidity; no matter how attractive they are, their looks can't alleviate my aching brain.
1/2* out of **** (1/10, F)
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Nathaniel R. Atcheson
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