|
Alphabetic Index
|
Ratings Index
|
Web Resources
|
Alphabetic Index
|
Ratings Index
|
Web Resources
But name a thriller, any thriller, and chances are that writers Sarah Kernochan and Clark Gregg borrowed a thing or two from said film whilst fashioning this gothic gobbledegook for the masses. An unintentional homage to its genre with special emphasis on Hitchcock, the only thing that could legitimise What Lies Beneath would be a bibliography included in the closing credits. And therein lies the sad little horror -- a mere spectre of a movie with no body to inhabit. The derived mechanisms, sensibilities and styling cues, though more curious than entirely distracting, assure that director Robert Zemeckis' schlock imitation never achieves a vitality of its own. Even the semi-spooky score by Alan Silvestri copycats Bernard Herrmann.
Those disclaimers noted, attendees to these excessive doings will treat themselves to one of the most outlandish bathroom scenes to besmirch the silver screen in a gargoyle's age. And while heretical praise in some far gone corners has compared the devastating sequences to the horrific alchemy so masterfully evinced in Psycho, this second-hand treatment will doubtless have viewers re-pondering the relative safety of their own water closets. You may want to install a few grab-handles, maybe bring along a snorkel, and perhaps even wear a helmet on your next visit there.
Of course, by the time you reach this hair-raising point, you will have endured all manner of twist and turn with little payoff. And yet the movie drones on and on, attempting one scare tactic after the next, as if to guiltily admit that nothing quite seems to work.
But don't blame that on the actors. Both Harrison Ford and Michelle Pfeiffer contribute journeyman performances as Norman and Claire Spencer, at first blush the ideal couple living the idyllic university town existence. This includes a perfect Victorian home on a pristine Vermont lake and a bright young daughter just recently delivered to her college dorm. Who would think that Claire would suddenly start seeing a ghost, the apparition of a younger woman her husband just might know?
Norman, a renowned Ph.D. in genetics, occupies an esteemed chair at the local hall of higher learning. And it appears that supportive Claire is the consummate wife. But of course you know that appearances can be deceiving. Well, that is the hackneyed point, isn't it? After all, what fun would it be if the perfect couple didn't pathetically obliterate into something far more dysfunctional than our own families by the time all the blood curdling screaming was over?
Of course, how well the originally pretty picture unravels into sheer horror and dire despair is the measure of this film phylum. But What Lies Beneath offers little style or grace in that department. Loosely connected sub-plots and angles awkwardly feint and jab in an attempt to throw us off balance. And apparently believing that something done poorly is worth doing twice, and even sometimes thrice, the movie goes overboard and eventually wobbles out of kilter. Only the solid performances in the wake of a script-doomed project keep the creepy doings from being entirely laughable.
Shades of Gaslight, Miss Pfeiffer does the Ingrid Bergman thing with considerable believability, feverishly questioning her sanity as things go bump in the night, as well as during the day. Keeping her company at the Ouija board is Diana Scarwid as best friend Jody. The horrible realisation is, if Claire's not crazy, then she's in mortal danger.
Box office dynamo Harrison Ford in the Charles Boyer role tries out a risky and brave new persona, sporting more shades of grey than Hollywood likes for its leading men. And while he doesn't quite approach the character actor dimension that Donald Sutherland has perennially achieved in similar roles, he fares well considering the script's limitations.
Hubby is understanding, but just up to a point. He'll be the first to tell you what an important scientist he is, and a psychotic wife in tow is hardly the ticket to increased research funding. So he eventually ships her off to the shrink (Joe Morton), where we find out that what lies beneath Claire's otherwise accepting exterior is a concert cellist who gave it all up to make her man happy. Get it? Get it? What lies beneath? And make no bones about it. Dr. Spencer has a few skeletons jangling in his closet, too. The question is, is he really bad to the bone or simply a victim of circumstance?
You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure this one out. Watson with a bad head cold could piece it together. But the venerable gent might divine what's afoot only through intuition and a knowledge of trite movie scenarios. For there is no logical progression of evidence here. What Lies Beneath makes its own inconsistent rules along the way, hopping hither and thither from ghost tale to detective yarn, committing to neither and failing to satisfactorily mesh the two. Director Zemeckis merely plays the supernatural card, employing phantoms and the such as a convenient deus ex machina when the plot has nothing better to move it along.
Granted, there are a couple of scenes that could very well cause lift-off for easily frightened viewers not tethered to their chairs. But if you were compiling a list of recent mystery/horror films worth seeing, What Lies Beneath wouldn't have a ghost of a chance for inclusion.
|
Alphabetic Index
|
Ratings Index
|
Web Resources