# Rift (1993)

### reviewed by
Max Hoffmann

                                        RIFT
                           A film review by Max Hoffmann
                            Copyright 1993 Max Hoffmann

    RIFT, Not Rated
    Color  35mm --  90 minutes U.S.A
    Max Reax =   0 on scale of 0 --- 10
                                ^      ^
                               |      |
                                     sux     must see

    Director:         Edward S. Barkin
    Producers:        Gabriel J. Fischbarg, Tryan George and Edward S. Barkin
    Prod. Co:        Off-Screen Productions
    Cinematgphr:        Lee Daniel
    Editor:                Tryan George
    Art Direction:        Mark C. Andrews
    Principal Cast:        William Sage, Timothy Cavanagh, Jennifer Bransford,
                    Alan Davidson

Premiere Jan 23 at Sundance Film Festival, UT

This film was so bad, it may end up being my "guilty treat" for this year. (Last year was the video rental gem, LADY TERMINATOR.)

Director Barkin based the film on his play of the same name. It revolves around a neurotic NYC love triangle, with three of the shallowest characters you've encountered on film. The "20-something" cast look like models from a Newport cigarette ad, especially the smoky hunk, Timothy Cavanagh, who plays the domineering husband who slowly sinks into the bottle, (but somehow manages to maintain those abs and perfectly spiked hair in the process.)

The dramatic tension is supposed to rest on the fact that "Tom" (William Sage), best friend to Bill (Cavanagh) and Lisa (Bransford) might be slowly losing his mind. The tenuous grip on his sanity is portrayed by a seemingly endless replay of a "nightmare" sequence that looks like out takes from a rejected HBO "Tales from the Crypt" episode. The director missed an opportunity when he chose to put wan, thin-lipped Wm. Sage in all the sweaty near nude nightmare sequences, and leaves the hunkier Cavanagh fully clothed in nearly every scene. The nightmare always ends with Bill getting ready to kill Tom because he's been fooling around with his wife, Lisa. Imagine Tom's fragile sanity when he discovers that Bill and Lisa's marriage is crumbling, and that Lisa just "might" be falling for him.

The corn really gets piled on when Lisa convinces Tom to start seeing a psychiatrist, Joe Isuzu look-alike Alan Davidson. The shrink starts showing up, not only in Tom's dreams, but in bar mirrors, on his TV ... anywhere there's a glass surface. His mugging face is about as obnoxious as the starched braids of Pippy Longstocking ... and a gradual wave of titters start developing in the audience with each appearance.

The cast is lightweight, and collectively have the talent clout of a minor role supporting daytime soap opera star. The actors are obviously used to getting audience reaction from some SoHo or Village crowd with gymnastic eyebrows and great hair. Ms. Bransford "changes character" via a variety of head bands and home shopping club jewelry. (She's a rich girl from Park Avenue, Tom and Bill are best buddies from Queens.) The guys are about as "yo boy" as Rob Lowe, and Lisa has all the nascent social grace of a Mary Kay hostess.

Although I wouldn't recommend this film to anyone, I found enjoyment in counting the number of ways they blew it. (a) In a tender and emotional scene where Lisa "comforts" the terrified Tom, you start to notice how much lacquer they put in his hair to keep that one strand dangling precariously over his brow. (b) In a "let's watch their love grow" sequence of youthful antics and dorky music in a carnival, you start counting the times that Lisa's hair doesn't match in retakes, or how her shoes don't match her hand bag. In summary, you pass your time with this film pretty much the way you kill a dreary cross-country flight in economy ... by people watching, and looking for pathetic little details. Unfortunately, with this film, you don't get the peanuts and a Coke. A thorough reading of those Nordic Ski-Trac ads would be a welcomed relief.

    --
    Max Hoffmann

    .

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