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An all-star cast remakes the 1975 socio-political horror flick,
The Stepford Wives. After being fired as president of a television network, Joanna (Nicole Kidman,
Moulin Rouge) has a nervous breakdown, prompting her husband Walter (Matthew Broderick,
Election) to take her to a simple Connecticut town called Stepford to recuperate. But Stepford is a little strange: The schlubby husbands congregate at a closed-doors men's club, while the wives--all in bright summer frocks and air-brushed smiles--exercise to keep their hourglass figures and cook endless pastries. Joanna, along with new arrivals Bobbie (Bette Midler,
Beaches) and Roger (the very funny Roger Bart), soon discover that the mastermind of Stepford (Christopher Walken,
Communion) has used cybernetics to "perfect" womankind.
The Stepford Wives has some satirical zingers (from sneaky screenwriter Paul Rudnick,
Addams Family Values), but the basic idea has lost a lot of gas since 1975. Also featuring Glenn Close (
Fatal Attraction).
--Bret Fetzer
This updated version of the Ira Levin novel, first adapted for the movies (drearily) in 1975, is bright and funny for about an hour. A bunch of drippily unattractive and frightened husbands, retreating to the wealthy, bland Connecticut town of Stepford, turn their high-powered wives into perfect slave robots. The script, by Paul Rudnick, and the set design, by Jackson De Govia, transform Levin's thriller material into spoof. The dresses of the robot wives are a riot of patterned gingham, the wives' exercises, as choreographed by Patricia Birch, imitate the gently spinning movements of washing machines, and the sparkling mansions are high-windowed and strewn with flowers. In essence, the movie represents Rudnick's riff on the square world, which he takes to be everywhere outside of New York. The heroines include two yet to be robotized women-Bette Midler, slamming into scenes like a runaway truck, and Nicole Kidman, who has energy and spark. But Matthew Broderick, as her husband, a Caspar Milquetoast with a flap of hair falling over his forehead, never seems to get into the movie at all, and, somewhere in the middle, the rusty gothic-horror mechanics underneath the comedy bring everything to a grinding halt. With Glenn Close and Christopher Walken, giving their all as the smoothly malicious leaders of Stepford. Directed, shakily, by Frank Oz. -David Denby
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker