oanna Eberhart (Kidman), uncompromising president of a television network, loses her job and breaks down. Her semi-dorky husband, Walter (Broderick), quits his job in protest and takes the opportunity to relocate the family to the gated community of Stepford in Connecticut. It seems perfect, too perfect. The men are all Walter-like and the woman are not just gorgeous, but behave robotically, carrying their men's golf clubs around, agreeing with everything their spouses say and, oh my, even agreeing to sex in the afternoon.
Joanna tries to figure out what the hell is going on, a quest that finds her accompanied by two other recent arrivals in Stepford, Bobbie Markowitz (Midler) and Roger Bannister (Bart). She's an author and he's a gay architect. Meanwhile, their respective significant others, Walter, Dave (Lovitz) and Jerry (David Marshall Grant), discover the fun to be had at the Stepford Men's Association, a mansion presided over in Hugh Hefner-like fashion by Mike Wellington (Walken). While Mike wows the guys, his wife, Claire (Close), plays mother hen to the ladies in town, leading them in exercise classes and book club meetings.
Mike then reveals to Walter the big secret, that the women of Stepford have been transformed into subservient robots who can bake ovens full of cupcakes by day and cook even better in bed at night. Will the admittedly intrigued Walter let his wife—from whom he's grown apart and of whom he's jealous—be Stepford-ized? And will Joanna, Bobbie and Roger figure it all about before it's too late?
The Stepford Wives kicks off with a killer intro sequence involving Joanna's new slate of television shows, including one reality program in which married contestants are asked to choose between their spouse and a hunk or babe. It's witty, timely and laugh-out-loud funny. If only the same could be said for the rest of the movie. The rest of it is amusing in fits and starts, with dazzling one-liners here and there, but the story loses comedic momentum far too soon. Just as problematic, the film's thriller aspects fall flat. How scary can it all be when the audience is supposed to laugh, too? Director Frank Oz and screenwriter Paul Rudnick try juggling both balls, but neither stays in the air long enough.
For better? Or for worse?
Tons of trees have been sacrificed and countless megabytes have been wasted reporting—relentlessly, mercilessly and sometimes maliciously—about the purported problems on the set of The Stepford Wives. A second wave of stories then gleefully examined what was, apparently, an equally vexing post-production, with bad buzz spreading about horrific test screenings and tension-filled, last-minute reshoots. It all begs two questions: Why remake The Stepford Wives in the first place? And why reinvent it as a comedy?
Whatever the answers to the questions, there's now a final product to consider. And though objectivity should rule the day, the intense advance scrutiny paid to The Stepford Wives does, honestly, taint one's viewing of the film. On the other hand, there was such bad buzz and such diminished expectations for The Matrix Revolutions, for example, that the few die-hards who actually ventured to see it were pleasantly surprised. Anyway, Frank Oz, as gifted a filmmaker as there is in the game, felt compelled to remake The Stepford Wives and turn the Ira Levin story—which also served as the basis for Bryan Forbes' 1975 film version—on its head, aiming for satiric yuks rather than sinister cautionary drama. Paul Rudnick, a terrific writer with a snarky streak a mile long, penned the script. And the material attracted a fantastic cast: Nicole Kidman, Matthew Broderick, Bette Midler, Glenn Close, Christopher Walken, Jon Lovitz and Roger Bart.
But anyone who gives a damn about plausibility will walk out infuriated. In one scene, a robot wife spins out of control and sparks fly from her head. Is she all robot? Part robot? A woman with a chip in her head that lets her man control her? Apparently, that depends on the scene. Oz has said he didn't want the science-fiction end of the equation to muddy the drama or character relationships. Fair enough. But the technological aspects of it are so egregiously botched and contradicted within the film's own logic that, particularly in the final moments, even the most forgiving moviegoer will feel cheated and confused.
So far as the performances, everyone gives it the old college try. Kidman grounds the proceedings, ruthless and distracted at the start, believable and sympathetic as Joanna's situation worsens. Midler elicits plenty of laughs, as does Bart. Close is deliciously over-the-top, and Walken oozes creepiness. Broderick, as usual, plays the straight man. A heartfelt scene in which Walter and Joanna discuss the state of their marriage scores, but an equally pivotal scene, the one in which Walter must decide whether to let Mike turn Joanna into a Stepford wife, generates neither heat nor menace. And poor Faith Hill, who plays a Stepford wife, has absolutely nothing to do but stand around looking pretty.
