Happy Accidents (2000)

reviewed by
Harvey S. Karten


HAPPY ACCIDENTS

Reviewed by Harvey Karten IFC Films Director: Brad Anderson Writer: Brad Anderson Cast: Marisa Tomei, Vincent D'Onofrio, Nadia Dajani, Tovah Feldshuh, Holland Taylor, Richard Portnow, Sean Gullette, Cara Buono, Lianna Pai, Tamara Jenkins, Jose Zuniga, Bronson Dudley, Anthony Michael Hall

If you know good music you could probably listen to a piece you've never heard before--a symphony by Brahms or Beethoven, an opera by Mozart or Puccini--and figure out who composed it. The same is true of film directors but to a limited extent. Who would have guessed that Brad Anderson, who scared the wits out of his audience with "Session 9," could turn out a fluffy comedy like "Happy Accidents"? On the other hand, we do see that in both cases an active imagination is at work. In "Session 9," Anderson tells a horror story that breaks away from the standard genre of devils-outside to take on the "Repulsion"-like terror of a mind breaking down--the demons within. With "Happy Accidents," Anderson takes on a similarly atypical story, this one about love rather than the abhorrence felt between men in "Session 9," and asks the question: Can a woman love a man enough to overlook what she considers a sick mind?

Anderson's romantic tale hits us with a twist near its conclusion that could knock out socks off were it not that "Happy Accidents" dwells so interminably on a single concept that by the time we learn the truth, we find it difficult to care. When Ruby Weaver (Marisa Tomei) runs into Sam Deed (Vincent D'Onofrio) on a park bench in New York, she is so taken in by his gentle demeanor that she overlooks the co-dependency situations with other men that drove her to a therapist (Holland Taylor) and invites him to share her flat in just a week's time. After Sam invites Ruby to listen to some music--bringing some records to her place rather than taking her to a concert--they switch off the nostalgic stuff, put on the contempo, and dance wildly all the way to her bed. It is there that she notices a bar code tattooed to his underarm, at which point he explains that he's a time traveler who has come back from his existence in the 25th century--which prompts her to give him his walking papers. But when she discusses the situation with her best friend Gretchen (Nadia Dajani) and later, in the film's best scene, has a heart-to-heart with her mother Lillian (Tovah Feldshuh) about savoring the passion because "it doesn't last," she decides to go along for the ride.

Though Marisa Tomei and Vincent D'Onofrio were both born in Brooklyn (which should make them soul brother and sister as far as I'm concerned), they are miscast. D'Onofrio is forty-one years old playing a role he should have been given just after his capacity in "Full Metal Jacket," while Tomei, going on thirty-seven, is simply past the time of girlie chats, of looking endless at pictures of the "freaks" they had dumped, leaving their pictures in what they call the ex-files. Besides, Marisa Tomei is in her usual bimbo role, first as a telephone operator who gets fired because she spends too much time chatting with her 411 clients and promptly lands a job teaching English to foreigners! What sort of training did she get in TEFL? And how could she possibly keep up in some heavy discussion of the laws of physics with art-gallery-loving friends who are far too sophisticated for her--including Anthony Michael Hall in the role of a famous actor who believes he is seeing some cool improvs as Sam discusses his life in the 25th?

Credit must be given nonetheless to director Anderson for a good attempt at putting across a decidedly lower-budget sci-fi pic than Gregory Hoblit's excellent time-travel saga "Frequency," but quirkiness of plot and engagement of audience do not always go hand in hand. The dialogue is often incisive but the film could easily lose fifteen minutes by dispensing with the repetitive discussions of time travel and making the chemistry between two middle-aged people more credible.

Not Yet Rated R. Running time: 110 minutes. (C) 2001 by Harvey Karten, film_critic@compuserve.com

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