# Practical Magic (1998)

### reviewed by
David N. Butterworth

    PRACTICAL MAGIC
    A film review by David N. Butterworth
    Copyright 1998 David N. Butterworth

    ** (out of ****)

So I took my little sister to see "Practical Magic" because it seemed like a better choice than "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer - The Movie" (even though "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer - The Movie" features a new version of 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer' by Clint Black). "Practical Magic" stars Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman who play sisters who are also latter-day witches, and if you've seen anything else with Nicole in it you'll know this isn't much of a stretch for her. She plays the slutty witch with the red hair whose freewheeling lifestyle gets her into trouble. Sandra plays the good witch with the black hair who has hung up her broomstick and decided not to dabble in the black arts. She wants a normal life with a husband and two kids (one has black hair, the other red, coincidentally) and a business selling shampoos, soaps, and body oils. If you've seen anything else with Sandra in it you'll know this isn't much of a stretch for her. Unfortunately Sandra and Nicole are the latest in a long line of witches who have been landed with a nasty curse: any man who falls in love with an Owens woman is doomed. To sit through this movie, they mean. So I tried to keep my eyes off Sandra and Nicole as much as possible, lest I fall in love with either of them, and marvel instead at Stockard Channing and Dianne Wiest who play the girls' over-stuffed, campy witch aunts, with whom they are forced to live and eat chocolate for breakfast. Stockard essentially recreates her over-stuffed, campy role as a bordello proprietor in "Moll Flanders." Dianne says something funny--there's a big dramatic pause right before she says it--but for the life of me I can't remember what it was now. Maybe it was during the embarrassing "midnight margaritas" sequence. That's part of the problem with the film; it's not very funny (unless substituting a dustbuster for a broom is a new sight gag for you). On the other hand, Sandra's tears are quite convincing when her husband gets run over by a truck--think what she could do if a storyline required her to blubber for 90 minutes straight--but that's the other problem with the film. It's all over the place. It's part light romantic comedy, part sappy sentimental tearjerker, part Tuesday night domestic violence drama, part murder mystery, and part "Exorcist"-styled demonic possession flick, and none of this fits together particularly well. I asked my sister what she thought of the film and she said it was a bit "slow." But her biggest disappointment was that Aidan Quinn, who plays an Arizona cop who comes looking for Nicole's missing boyfriend, didn't take his shirt off. As for the film's soundtrack... Oh geez. Just when the film gets quiet or moving or poignant the filmmakers force some loud, inappropriate pop song down our throats. Thankfully someone must have whispered something in Griffin Dunne's ear--Griffin directed the picture with far too much soft-focus and hand-held camerawork for my liking--about halfway through the film because the songs stop, just like that, until Stevie Nicks, a self-confessed witch in her own right, warbles a new version of Fleetwood Mac's 'Crystal' right at the end of the movie, following it immediately with another sudser over the end credits. This so that they could stamp a big "features two new songs by Stevie Nicks" on the print ads, presumably. Maybe Clint Black crooning 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer' wasn't such a bad idea after all.

    --
    David N. Butterworth
    dnb@mail.med.upenn.edu

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