Ray Pride

The lore goes that Miramax Films stopped doing reshoots of their teen-throb "Texas Rangers" and finally released that movie only because the actors got too old for more tinkering.

How long can a reshot and delayed movie stay on the shelf? A long time, you'd think, after witnessing "Duplex," a black comedy misfire about a couple who inherit an indomitable rent-controlled tenant when they buy a reasonably priced Brooklyn brownstone, began as the second feature of Greg Mottola, who made the quirky and very New York "Daytrippers." Creative differences ensued early on, and Danny DeVito took over the Ben Stiller-Drew Barrymore vehicle, bringing along his own taste for the garish and baroque. I'm not sure if "Duplex" was shot before "Death to Smoochy," but there's a dated--not timeless--quality to DeVito's recent work as a director. Wasn't this material run to ground with 1986's "The Money Pit"? (Then again, "Smoochy" came several years after "Barney"-bashing had run dry.)

Black comedy's a precious thing. Memories of "Throw Momma from the Train" and DeVito's inspired performances in movies like "Ruthless People" raise hopes for deathless vulgarity. But hopes are almost instantly dashed in "Duplex" when the movie opens with a step-by-step voiceover by DeVito--who does not appear in the film--setting up the premise of the movie, accompanied by cutesy animated caricatures of Stiller and Barrymore. It's almost a perfect cartoon of the editing and voice-over choices seen in many Miramax releases. (At least the leavings have been pared to a brief ninety minutes or so.)

Alex (Stiller) and Nancy (Barrymore) are the earnest young couple; Alex a novelist whose second book is due to his publisher in a few weeks, Nancy a designer for a nasty-looking magazine called NY, NY, apparently a hotel-room throwaway. Their upstairs tenant, Mrs. Connelly (Eileen Essel), a sweet-seeming Irish woman of 95, turns out to be the tenant from hell (plus her controlled rent is only $88 a month). While Alex tries to write at home in his tranquil little writer's nook, the demanding biddy takes over his days, smiling cluelessly when he tries to resist running errands with her. Soon, Alex and Nancy are hoping for her demise, and just as quickly, plotting it. Although it's repetitive of his earlier work--"Throw Momma from the Brownstone," anyone?--one can see why DeVito would be attracted to salvaging the project. While there are intermittently inspired jokes and gross-outs, it's an ugly movie to look at, with clunky cutting and erratically filtered close-ups, an irritating inconsistency likely borne out of reshoots. Another danger sign in any comedy: "funny" sped-up motion as the couple move their possessions into the apartment. (At this point, to my horror, I discovered I was sitting in front of the same duo that had been in the audience I saw "Meet the Parents" with. For them, any cut to a frame containing Stiller is a cause for throaty chuckles and exchanged glances.)

The grating tone of the more implausible plot turns and comic set-pieces in the one-joke setup isn't helped by Stiller looking ever more haggard and angry, much like his writing partner and "Permanent Midnight" doppelganger Jerry Stahl. He also has the unenviable task of sharing a frame with a cranky crimson macaw called "Little Dick." Little old ladies being dirty? Little Dick belonged to her late husband, "Big Dick," who, she adds, "was a seaman." And how about a scene where she strips for her bath to the strains of "True," while Alex is hiding behind the shower curtain?

Barrymore's performance seems less her usual cheery, endearing self than squishy and unfocussed. There are intermittently inspired lines, such as Alex's "It would be nice not to have to write at Starbucks with all the other novelists." (Of course, several scenes at Starbucks follow, to diminishing comic effect.)

Even after "Death to Smoochy," you hope for classic vulgarity from DeVito, and Alex on the subway leaning into a flu-stricken man's stream of sneeze droplets is about as close this high-end PG-13 gross-out comedy gets to being shocking. That is, unless you count the scene of the flu-stricken Nancy puking into Alex's open mouth. If only the DVD has footage of the script meetings on those critical creative choices: "Yeah, yeah, the geyser of crap shoots up out of the sink, into Drew's flu-flushed face, and then she vomits it right back into Ben's open mouth while the little old lady coos at them about getting a flu shot!"

That would be worth a rental.

"Duplex" opens Friday.

(2003-09-25)

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