| More Sex and the City than satire Diane English's remake of The Women loses the social commentary of the original
B-
| THE WOMEN
Opens Friday
"Kept women and marital breakups were big moral questions then. Today, of course, everybody would be screwing everybody, and everyone would know about it."
So guessed director George Cukor about a hypothetical remake of his 1939 film in an interview in the '70s. Thirty years later and said remake proves Cukor is close, as The Women is little more than an attempted corrective of this year's other estrogen-fueled dramedy, Sex and the City. And, while the plot doesn't always involve a revolving bedroom door, the film does plunge into the perhaps superficial fashionista stereotypes usually ascribed to female Manhattanites, something even the original relished poking holes in.
Murphy Brown creator and first-time director Diane English updates the Claire Boothe Luce Broadway show about status-conscious women in New York, with the conceit being that there's not a male in sight (even in long shots - quite a technical feat for crowd scenes).
Meg Ryan is Mary Haines, a fashion designer for her father's company, a dedicated wife to Stephen, a wildly prosperous Wall Street financier, and a mother to an adorable, seemingly well-adjusted 11-year-old. Her best friend is Sylvie Fowler (Annette Bening) - an aging, cutting-edge magazine editor who's happily single but struggling to stay culturally 'with it' to retain her prominent position. Rounding out the female quartet of best friends is Sylvie's forever-pregnant sister, played by Debra Messing, and Jada Pinkett-Smith, a celebrated essayist enjoying a self-imposed extended vacation before buckling down to write her second book.
When a gossip-loving manicurist lets it slip that Mary's husband is cheating on her with a Saks Fifth Avenue 'Spritzer Girl' (Eva Mendes), the rumour starts swirling amongst the women, spread via hushed conversations in crowded bathrooms, before it's finally revealed to Mary.
Separated from her husband and unexpectedly fired by her dad (both of whom are never seen nor heard), Mary must discover what it means to be an independent woman in 2008. (In true Hollywood fashion, she's wealthy enough to afford a momentary lapse from her responsibilities as a mother.)
Cameos abound in English's woman-centric Manhattan: Candice Bergen plays Mary's mother, already overly familiar with Mary's quandary through experience; Bette Midler is a pot-smoking agent on retreat; and Carrie Fisher is a renowned author courted by Sylvie to write for her magazine. Cloris Leachman and Eastern European beauty Natasha Alam portray Mary's in-house staff, every bit the gossipmongers themselves, mentally deducing when they should put in their notices should Mary's marriage become officially kaput.
Though these New York caricatures - urbane, confident and witty city women - may be rooted in fact, their mere progressiveness can't solely enrich a plot that feels like a modern romantic comedy excised of the male gender. English's revision takes more from Sex and the City than the monumentally satiric play upon which it was based - making this a glossy cash-in as opposed to a genuine, human comedy.
— Aaron Graham |
Uptown
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