Almost everyone hates this film -- even people who were a part of it -- and frankly I don't understand why. The "Stepford wife" has become a cultural reference point in part because of its many manifestations over the last forty years, and this film is a brave, intelligent addition to their ranks. Does it have its problems? Yes, and arguably more than enough. But I think the critical failure of this film boils down to problems with the critics, not the film.
Ira Levin's (author of Rosemary's Baby and Deathtrap) 1972 novel, a satirical thriller about gender norms in marital relationships, was famously adapted into a 1975 sci-fi thriller film directed by Brian Forbes. There have been at least three unsuccessful attempts at sequels, but the concept has rooted in our minds, sometimes leading us to accuse men of creating their own Stepford wives (I remember hearing Katie Holmes called one during her time with Tom Cruise). The story has been battled out among audiences as being either hopelessly misogynist or subversively feminist with no clear consensus, though I've only ever thought of it as a feminist effort. A big part of the "thrilling" element of the novel and first film is that it reveals to us the dangerous imbalance of gender power and the historically oppressive control of men especially in the institution of marriage. When we see our own norms exaggerated and taken to their extreme limits, we see the dangers of our own behavior, and it scares the hell out of us.
Frank Oz's 2004 remake of the film takes a very different tone from previous adaptations as well as the source material. Screenwriter Paul Rudnick injects a fierce humor into the dialogue that both heightens and trivializes the proceedings; that's not something we see in many films, especially not successfully. Oz parallels Rudnick's incredible two-tone aesthetic in striking visual fashion, moving the 70s housewife trope into a futuristic yet traditional setting. His eye for lurid colors and rigid patterns creates a hypnotic effect, concurrently enchanting and disturbing our expectations of wealthy suburbia. Finally, the actors -- including Nicole Kidman, Matthew Broderick, Bette Midler, Roger Bart, Christopher Walken, and Glenn Close -- provide the glue that pulls these complicated paradoxical stylizations together: Camp. Their performances are so wildly ostentatious that they become grotesques in Oz's world of symbols and sensations.
Part of the problem in discussing this film is that it fuses genres, and I've noticed that that seems to negatively affect some critics. In this case, our expectations for another thriller film are cast off because of the humor, our expectations for camp are conflicted because of the layered social commentary, and our expectations for comedy are darkened by the unsettling nature of the tale. That, and camp has always been hit-or-miss with critics (and artists). Some "get it," some don't. And our camp sensibility has changed, from Bride of Frankenstein (1935) to Burlesque (2010); some people (both audiences and artists) view camp as disturbing and edgy, others as funny and carefree. But camp isn't the same down the line, and style is a difficult thing for most critics to, well, criticize, because of its individual and intimate nature. The camp in this film feels funny most of the time, but I find it disturbing because, like Ira Levin's vision of Stepford, the bright facades mask a dark secret.
Besides the main conflict of feminist vs. misogynist in critical appraisals of the film, even secondary elements aren't black and white (or yellow and pink, to fit the palette). Bette Midler plays a "normal" woman, working as a writer, with frizzy hair, glasses, dark clothes, big teeth, and meat on her bones; she challenges her husband and her mothering duties at every turn while living a life drastically apart from the neighborhood. Her feminist energy, however, is ultimately turned into hyper-feminine, submissive trope of domesticity. Roger Bart plays the (original to this film) urban gay partner of a Stepford resident, and their relationship is painted as stereotypically as most: Bart is flamboyant and feminine while his partner is masculine and distant. But that trope becomes complicated when, after he becomes a Stepford "wife", he runs for a Republican political office; even after he is returned to normal, he declares himself an Independent. Whatever our opinions of these character developments, one thing is strikingly clear about this film: Nothing is what it seems, and no norm depicted in the film is left undisturbed. Even the comedy/thriller genre ambiguity is significant in this way; I would argue that this film is more effective, then, than the 1975 straight thriller.
One of my favorite elements of the film is the simple fact that, for all its commentary on varied facets of life, it doesn't really say anything definitive about them. This film is not propaganda. It has no definite moral, no lessons to impart. It does, however, aggressively open doors to all kinds of conversation. Whether we want to talk about interior design or whitewashed casts, the morality of insanity or marital power struggles, this film presents us with complicated, layered material that just begs for discussion. It pushes boundaries, subverts its own images, characters, and plot devices, and challenges us to think. In fact, maybe it does teach us a lesson: Whatever happens, think independently, lest we all become Stepford wives.
IMDb: The Stepford Wives
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