Heartbreakers

On sitting through Heartbreakers you could easily be excused for thinking it’s just an elongated advertisement for Jennifer Love Hewitt’s breasts. They jiggle, they wobble, they suffer under the constraints of phenomenally tight clothing and generally seem to be the focus of most every scene.

Whilst Hollywood has admittedly thrown up even flimsier premises for feature length films in recent years, there actually is some semblance of pretence to a plot behind the blatant exploitation of Ms Love Hewitt’s bosom. This is actually a kind of scam-artist flick which, idea-wise at least, is not a million miles removed from the sort of concoction you may get if you threw Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, The Sting and possibly even a pinch of Thelma & Louise into a blender and set the controls to ‘hyper-mush’. The only problem is it’s nowhere near as good as any of them.

The shysters in question are mother and daughter ‘team� Max and Page Conners (Sigourney Weaver and she of the omnipresent cleavage). With sheer avarice as their motivation, and possessing seemingly no scruples or consciences whatsoever to hamper them, their con of choice is for Max, under whatever alias she opts for at the time, to lure and marry unsuspecting guys – loaded ones of course – and then arrange for them to be caught in compromising positions with her daughter soon after. Before you can say “dumb stick� the hapless victims are facing divorce proceedings, and mom and daughter drive off into the sunset considerably more financially stable. At the beginning of the film they had managed to successfully pull this off 13 times - are rich guys really this gullible?

Anyway, after doing over one Dean Cumanno (Ray Liotta), a somewhat shonky car re-distributor, Page announces that she wishes to go solo. This doesn’t go over too well with her mother, and tempers flare until they’re united in a common goal – one final con to allow them to pay a whopping IRS bill. All they now need is a suitably loaded - and suitably thick - mark.

So, it’s off to sunny Palm Beach, where their sucker radars soon beep away wildly at the sight of one William B. Tensy, a phlegmatic chain-smoking tobacco magnate (played to the hilt by Gene Hackman). Adopting the guise of Olga, a smouldering Russian temptress, Max works her ways with the hapless Tensy, a proposal soon follows and then...

Meanwhile, Page is doing her own thing, and finds a potential patsy all of her own in bar owner Jack (Jason Lee). You just can’t trust these youngsters, however, as Jack falls for Page and she reluctantly does the same – how unprofessional! And remember Dean? Well, he doesn’t exactly lie back and take the treatment...

With David Mirkin at the director’s helm, a man who has worked on such shining television beacons as The Simpsons and The Larry Sanders Show, plus the hilarious flick Romy & Michele’s High School Reunion, you’d expect this comedy to be right on the money. Sadly though, this is most definitely not the case. What we get instead is a WAY too long (NO supposed comedy should be two hours in duration) hodge-podge that admittedly delivers some occasional chuckles, but more so comes across as yet another Hollywood preach-fest. About the only thing as obvious as the previously mentioned breasts is “The Message� – smoking is like bad, you know? This is, of course, delivered in virtual neon lighting at the same time as most everybody in the flick knocks back copious amounts of champers, lies, cheats and steals. And as for the two “heroines� slutting around in dresses with hemlines that would make Ally McBeal blush hitherto uncharted shades of scarlet... ah, but they’re empowered, right?

Anyway, before this review becomes as preachy as the film (and as dreadfully over-long), mention must be given to some fabulous performances, despite the flawed material they are stuck working with. Sigourney Weaver almost maintains her dignity in a role that sits somewhere slightly uncomfortably between Ripley from the Alien series and her fabulously blonde turn in Galaxy Quest. So too the has-to-become-a-superstar-soon Jason Lee does what he can, although just why his somewhat wide-eyed and sweet character would ever fall for the bitch-faced, pouting, loudmouthed ice queen that is Page beggars belief. Finally, in smaller roles Ray Liotta is great in one of his typical mafia-ish guises, and regardless of the political correctness levels being set beyond even 11 in relation to his role, as well as coughing up lungs Gene Hackman acts up a storm as Tensy, and is involved in most of the film’s best moments. Cameo spotters may also enjoy brief appearances from the likes of Carrie Fisher, Anne Bancroft, Jeffrey Jones and Saturday Night Live’s Kevin Nealon. And Ms Love Hewitt’s performance? Well, I hear that lingerie models make great salaries, and they don’t have to pretend to be able to act...

Curiously for a film of such recent vintage, the 2.35:1, 16x9 enhanced transfer we get of Heartbreakers isn’t exactly a great one, and doesn’t really do justice to Dean Semler’s photography or the often superb production design. As you would expect it is at least taken from a fairly clean print, although a few minor speckles pop up here and there, most notably during the end credits. However, it's elsewhere that things are let down.

The colours certainly cannot be accused of not being vivid – unfortunately, however, they border on being too vivid, so at times people and things appear decidedly over-saturated, such as one of Sigourney’s little red numbers. That’s referring to a dress, by the way. While black levels can’t be complained about, the film does contain many dark scenes, and unfortunately these don’t all come up as well as you would have a right to expect, leaving us with a noticeable loss of detail at times. Add to this cocktail some regularly noticeable examples of edge enhancement and we’re left with a transfer that will have most people happy, but the more finicky possibly disappointed.

As Dolby Digital 5.1 thankfully becomes de rigueur for most any new release nowadays, up pops what some see as a quandary – why purchase all those speakers when the film scarcely supports them? This is one of those films that generally inspires such a question – the talky comedy – however for a change there is a bit of action to keep those little black boxes (well mine are) that orbit you earning their keep.

Sure, most of the action is front and centre, with some bits and pieces panning appropriately between left and right, however many scenes utilise the rears to pleasing effect, even if the subwoofwoof mostly gets to have a bit of a lie down for the film’s duration. Audio synch is always spot-on, and the dialogue never pose any problems being understood amongst all else that is going on.

Generally that “all else�, of course, is the music. When the Danny Elfman theme chimes up you could be excused for thinking we’re in for a soundtrack treat, however perhaps the budget ran out after this as all other incidents of score are fairly run of the mill things from John Debney. This is all punctuated by the inevitable selection of soundtrack CD filler; still at least this includes the likes of Beck and John Lennon, as well as Shawn Colvin (who also makes a brief appearance in the film). One musical highlight is Sigourney’s fabulous take on The Beatles’ Back in the USSR – in fact it’s possibly the highlight of the entire film...

It appears that Buena Vista are the true heartbreakers here, as this retail release is identical to the previous rental version – in other words it contains absolutely NOTHING in the way of extras whatsoever. Meanwhile, the region 1 version boasts two commentaries, a ‘Making Of’ feature, outtakes, a mass of deleted scenes and a trailer; while region 2 doesn’t fare as well but still gets an interview, trailers and a photo gallery. This is rather disappointing.

With only reasonable video quality, decent-enough audio, not a single sausage in the extras department and an almost excruciatingly long wannabe comedy as the disc’s main attraction, this isn’t the easiest release to recommend handing over wads of cash for. Some will no doubt find it funny, although it wouldn’t be a surprise to me if even the most embittered of man-hating extremists would find its length tough going and its premise dubious. Who does this leave then? Well, if anybody out there is interested in staring at Jennifer Love Hewitt’s boobs for two hours, here’s your chance.

Hmm, strange - what’s with all those queues of blokes forming outside the DVD shop?