ADDICTED TO LOVE
A film review by Andrew Hicks
Copyright 1997 Andrew Hicks / Fatboy Productions
(1997) **1/2 (out of four)
Might as well face it, ADDICTED TO LOVE is about as original as the decade-old Robert Palmer song it's named after. Like that song, it has so much bizarre appeal we end up liking it anyway. Griffin Dunne, never much of a star in his own right, has gone behind the camera this time to bring us an unconventional but thoroughly predictable tale of scorned lovers' revenge. As cliched as the plot developments are, there are enough laughs that the movie almost redeems itself.
The love-hate thing extends to the cast as well. Matthew Broderick, who was such a comedic force to be reckoned with back in the '80s, is a shadow of his former self here. He sports more stubble than George Michael and is never believable in the role of a pathetic astronomer whose girlfriend / soulmate leaves him. He sees the character the way we see it -- as a sad, sorry man who blindly refuses to move on with his life -- and doesn't take him seriously. The key to this kind of farce comedy is playing the most bizarre roles straight. Just ask Leslie Nielson.
Meg Ryan, on the other hand, is the saving grace of the film. She is cast way against type, as an overly made-up femme fatale who has a grudge against her ex-fiancee, who just happens to be the new beau of Broderick's ex-girlfriend, Kelly Preston. Old Mrs. Travolta doesn't have much to do in ADDICTED TO LOVE, so this will hardly be the comeback vehicle she's been waiting years for. No, the movie belongs to a hilarious Ryan and the French boyfriend, who turns out to be a lot funnier than he seems in his first few scenes.
Actually, the first few scenes make this seem like it will turn out to be a horrible movie. There are no laughs in the first 20 minutes and everything seems completely surreal. The opening scene has Broderick accurately predicting a meteor shower, then turning his giant telescope on Preston, across town. She waves at him, which makes it all seem like a misguided dream sequence. Nope, it's real, and so is the Dear John letter he gets in the next scene, after Preston has gone off to New York.
Broderick catches the next plane to New York and tracks her down, never once making contact with her. He follows her instead to the new boyfriend's pad, where Preston apparently now resides as well, and sets up shop in an abandoned house across the street. No sooner has Broderick rigged an elaborate camera and projector to relay their every move than in drops Ryan, in a motorcycle helmet and leather jacket. She wants revenge, while he's sure Preston is going through a phase, after which she will realize her true love for Broderick. Not until he shaves, I hope.
Both are equally pathetic in their stubborn desire to hold onto the past, but have a goal in common. So they try to split up Preston and the French man, who owns a restaurant in town. Before too long, we're seeing all sorts of episodic comedy cliches, even placing cockroaches in the restaurant on the night the New York Times restaurant critic is coming. And we know Broderick and Ryan will fall in love with each other. They have to; they're addicted to it.
ADDICTED TO LOVE works best when it adheres to the more conventional comedy approach, even though we've all seen that approach hundreds of times. The laughs aren't forced, though, most of them coming from the strange chemistry Ryan and Broderick have. And the Frenchman gets a lot of great lines in. It's when the film leaves the realm of believability that we wonder just what the hell Griffin is thinking, because the stranger the film gets, the less laughs there are. In this case, cliche is preferred. Might as well face it...
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