The Other Sister (1999) Juliette Lewis, Diane Keaton, Tom Skerritt, Giovanni Ribisi, Poppy Montgomery, Hector Elizondo. Music by Rachel Portman. Cinematography by Dante Spinotti. Screenplay by Garry Marshall and Bob Brunner. Directed by Garry Marshall. 128 minutes. Rated PG-13, 1.5 stars (out of five stars)
Review by Ed Johnson-Ott, NUVO Newsweekly www.nuvo-online.com Archive reviews at http://us.imdb.com/M/reviews_by?Edward+Johnson-ott To receive reviews by e-mail at no charge, send subscription requests to pbbp24a@prodigy.com
If you loved "Patch Adams" and "Stepmom," ignore this review and run, do not walk, to see "The Other Sister." If, however, you detest cheesy, emotionally manipulative, contrived pabulum, avoid this sap-fest like the plague. As the proud father of a retarded son, I generally applaud any film championing acceptance and independence for mentally-challenged individuals, but this movie is insufferable and, at 128 minutes, a torturous endurance test.
Like most contemporary melodramas, "The Other Sister" features uptight white people fussing with their kids in affluent settings (apparently the filmmakers believe that those unable to stomach the story can at least while away the time admiring the plush houses). In this case, the rich, white pain-in-the-ass is Diane Keaton, playing a priggish woman standing in the way of her mildly-retarded daughter's romance.
The mother of three, she beams with pride at her one "normal" daughter, a radiant girl about to marry an all-American guy. Meanwhile, she refuses to acknowledge another daughter's female lover, explaining to her exasperated offspring that she isn't a bigot because she donates money to gay causes. As for her retarded child, Mom adopts a strained martyr's smile anytime the girl commits a social faux-pas and throws a fit whenever the young woman tries to assert her independence. Tom Skerritt suffers nobly as the crinkle-faced ex-drunk husband, a kindly soul who serves as the voice of reason and acts as arbitrator between mother and daughter. The only intriguing question raised by the film is why a man like this remains married to such an unrelenting harridan.
Juliette Lewis and Giovanni Ribisi play the mentally-challenged love birds, affecting "retarded" voices, but otherwise using perfect syntax and eloquent phrasing. Right. Never for a moment do they seem like anything other than two actors doing handicapped shtick. Playing a retarded person is difficult. Tom Hulce pulled it off in "Dominick and Eugene" and Leonardo DiCaprio was convincing in "What's Eating Gilbert Grape," but more often than not, even the most talented performers come across as mannered and unconvincing. Lewis and Ribisi, two generally impressive actors, are patently phony here (when Lewis asks Ribisi who invented sex, watch him recite his punchline while shamelessly aping Dustin Hoffman's "Rainman" delivery).
Their characters are painfully unrealistic Hollywood clichés, mentally- challenged individuals presented as eternal children in adult bodies, who possess a naive wisdom and innate decency that makes them so very, very "special." One of the film's most irritating scenes shows the pair dressed up for a Halloween party in an absurd swan outfit and a ragged puppy suit. Virtually every mildly-retarded person I know wants to be viewed as an adult and not "special" or childlike. They have to work extremely hard to receive the same treatment the rest of us take as a given. Ask my son to put on a puppy suit and he'll tear your head off, chastising you for even suggesting he do something so babyish and undignified.
Had the folks behind "The Other Sister" done a little research, they might have noticed things like that. But, of course, that's a lot to expect from director and co-writer Garry Marshall, the amiable boob responsible for such TV perennials as "Happy Days," and cinematic gems like "Pretty Woman," "Dear God" and "Exit To Eden." Marshall is the king of glossy schlock and "The Other Sister" fits neatly into his sit-com oeuvre. Adept at grinding out handsomely photographed trifles filled with contrived moments calculated to get the crowd cheering, Marshall wouldn't know a genuine emotion if it came up and bit him. Actually, it's surprising that he wasted valuable time on a film like this when he could have been developing money-making projects more attuned to his skills, you know, something along the lines of "Laverne and Shirley: The Movie."
© 1999 Ed Johnson-Ott
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