DUETS (2000)
Grade: C+
Director: Bruce Paltrow
Screenplay: John Byrum
Starring: Gwyneth Paltrow, Paul Giamatti, Huey Lewis, Andre Braugher, Maria Bello, Scott Speedman, Angie Dickinson
Expectations are an odd thing. (Here comes the segue…wait for it). Last week I went to see NURSE BETTY with high apple pie in the sky hopes, for you see the picture had not only garnered a screenplay award at the prestigious CANNES FILM FESTIVAL, but an A grade from the mostly trustworthy folk at ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY, among a veritable avalanche of positive reviews. And I have no clue what any of them were talking about. The movie was a hodgepodge of indie irritations (I've taken to calling them "indieisms", an example of which could be those ever so common hip, articulate philosophy minded hit men) filtered through a mainstream feel-good sensibility; it's one of the few films aimed at both the audiences for schmaltzy STEPMOM-like hokum and cynical, ironical PULP FICTION-like grit. A week later I trudge into DUETS, my hopes dulled to nada just from glancing at its highly negative notices, plus rumors of Disney's uncertainty with the film, and some last minute re-shoots. Naturally I was expecting a train wreck. Instead I got a minor fender bender. A bicycle pile-up really. And I groaned and rolled my eyes a whole lot less than I did through BETTY. But oh yes, I did groan and roll my eyes. Though because of what I stated above in my oh so perceptive opening sentence, I can't really be mad at this flick; compared to what I thought I was in store for, DUETS was very nearly a blessing.
It's a strange film in that it has moments of greatness, coupled with clichés that should have been retired way before we entered the 90's. We get yet another pairing of a black guy and white guy who initially don't quite know what to make of the other, then eventually falling in love (…but not in a homosexual way), the estranged father and daughter (the father is a deadbeat type who wants nothing to do with his daughter, and frankly I'd feel the same way if she were played by Gwenyth Paltrow in blonde airhead mode), and the kind hooker who falls for the straight laced guy (nuff' said there). DUETS even includes a more recent motif; the family man who goes berserk like Kevin Spacey in AMERICAN BEAUTY, only instead of black mailing his boss and lusting after his daughter's teenage friends, he pierces his ears and paints his toe nails cherry red. Despite all that, I still found much to like amid this particular mess; it's sometimes clever, occasionally poignant, but just when you think you're watching a quality picture it slaps you in the face with an utterly dopey Nora Ephron moment (this occurs in nearly every scene with Paltrow).
The flick veers off into three separate stories, with only one worth paying attention to, not because it's so well done, rather because its performers manage to transcend all the lameness. We begin with Huey Lewis as a karaoke hustler (yep, that's when the first eye roll occurred), who stumbles into a bar looking like he doesn't know his right from left, trounces up to a bragging karaoke champ and mumbles "what the hell is this, karate-oke?" This leads to some spectacular singing by Lewis, which by the way is the one thing this film gets right every time. DUETS is like a modern musical, here, the actors have a reason to belt out tunes; they're performing. And even if the actors (all of whom do their own voice work with the exception of Braugher who was dubbed) don't hit all the right notes, they give confident and wildly energetic turns-- I practically had to hold myself in that sticky multiplex seat to keep from leaping in front of the screen and dancing like a fool. Even the weasel-voiced Gimatti does a fine job (after a purposely shaky start) with his rendition of HELLO IT'S ME by Todd Rundgren.
Huey Lewis doesn't give a great acting performance but I forgive him, considering that he has one the most interesting faces I've seen on the silver screen in a while. Time worn and handsome, his features are like a well-tread road map propped up by his inquisitive eyebrows. He looks like the beaten man he's playing. We find that he has an estranged daughter, Liv (Gwyneth Paltrow) who wants to get to know him, though he resists. Once this business starts, every scene between them becomes clichesville, with Paltrow pouting and scrunching her face up as if she were trying to capture the nuances of a Jennifer Love Hewitt performance. It's her most annoying work yet, though she kinda makes up for it when she gets to sing, which she does with sensuous aplomb. Nonetheless, their happy ending is a bit sudden and anti-climactic (nothing the characters do suggest the sudden change that occurs) though it too leads to some good stuff, notably a duet between Paltrow and Lewis to Smokey Robinson's CRUISIN' that had me smiling despite the falseness of its build-up. Like everyone in the film, the pair is on its way to Omaha for a karaoke showdown and, hopefully, some prize money.
Less annoying but still pretty bad, is the mini-story about the sweet-hearted hooker who meets a wannabe priest, now underachieving cab driver played by TV hunk Scott Speedman. I'm not familiar with Speedman and he's easily the worst link here with his dull line readings and utter inexpressivness; still, I'm convinced that once he masters a second facial expression they'll be no stopping him. This is one of those performances where the actor relies on his good-natured smile far too much, and it is indeed one of those sparkling "look at me!" Tom Cruise smiles. This smirk factory generates no chemistry with his female co-star, Maria Bello, who's so good she actually had me sorta enjoying the umpteenth variation on the ol' hooker with a heart of gold (see, she's different cause she sings too).
The third thread works out best, which is something, considering it has the most to negotiate. This is the one with Paul Giamatti as a sad sack businessman going certifiable, ditching his job and heading out on the road in search of freedom and, apparently, cigarettes. He impulsively picks up a hitchhiker played by the great Andre Braugher of the great (and no longer…R.I.P.) HOMICIDE: LIFE ON THE STREET. They have some terrific scenes together, particularly a thrilling bit where Giamatti teaches Braugher to drive, and does so very badly. The problem here is that they go from being a fairly genial couple (with vaguely haunted undertones) to a grim pairing after some completely out of place violence. This was the problem Disney had with the film, and they made the director, Bruce Paltrow (Gwyneth's father, again, nuff said), trim much of the objectionable material. So we don't really see anything, but the act is still there casting a pall over a film that spent most of its time working for a fairly light hearted tone.
The basic theme DUETS presents isn't a bad one; it being that the patrons who fill out karaoke bars ("it's a rush like you wouldn't believe," one character enthuses) are lonely and looking for some kind, any kind, of connection. Fine, but then don't make these characters so damn common, and don't put them through paces we've seen over and over (that was my personal aside to the film makers). The un-negotiable problem of the film lies in its screenplay; it's as if the writer, John Byrum, was too scared to tell a story too different, so he wound up filling his film with recognizable character types. And who's that gonna please?
http://www.geocities.com/incongruity98 Reeling (Ron Small)
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