The Stepford Wives (1975)

Brief: Walter Eberhart (Peter Masterson) moves his wife, Joanna (Katharine Ross), and his two kids out of the city and into the small quiet community of Stepford, Conneticut. Joanna has difficulty fitting in, but she makes friends with the equally outspoken Bobby Markowe (Paula Prentiss). As you may know, "something strange is happening in the town of Stepford." It's happening to the women, and it's only a matter of time before Joanna's next.

I was watching this sci-fi/mystery/thriller, and I thought that the MPAA should seriously rethink the PG rating. Or someone should seriously rethink the costume decision to have Ross never wear a bra.

I realize it's a small point that bears no relevance on anything of import in the movie, but it's so distracting! I saw Susan Sarandon talking to James Lipton once about why she didn't or doesn't or doesn't anymore (I'm not wholly familiar with her movie history) do topless scenes. She said that it doesn't matter what's going on or what an actor is saying because, at least for the first 15 seconds or so, everyone is staring at the nipple.

And it's true. Even when I willed myself to pay better attention to Ross's performance, I found myself sneaking a little peak like a greedy kid on Christmas Eve. For that reason alone I would have gone with PG-13.

Of course, the rampant and frank discussions of "christening every room in the house" or Bobby's admission that "it had to happen sometime" about losing her virginity also made me wonder. I don't think I'm a prude when it comes to film, but I knew when it first flashed "PG" across my screen that something just wasn't right.

Not that any of this is important. What is important is that Bryan Forbes (director) and William Goldman's (writer) adaptation of Ira Levin's dark warning of the very possible future is the movie I should have been watching back in May. I'm about to delve into something that you should already know if you know anything about either story, but I'll warning to stop reading now anyway.

So stop it if you really don't want to know.

This is how it should go down! Microchips made by Glenn Close? I think not. It's too easy, too gimmicky, too reversible. But real women murdered and replaced by passionless robots, that's good. Now that I'm thinking about it, the fact that they weren't robots in the remake makes for a lot of plot holes. I'm ignoring it, though.

It also explains why Ross was much better as the protagonist than Nicole Kidman. My love for Nicole knows nearly no bounds, but Ross understood the absolute terror that drove Joanna. Kidman seemed more, well, pissed. Ross's Joanna worried and plotted and created the sort of insomnia-ridden paranoiac that we all know we'd turn into in a similar situation. Kidman loved Broderick out it it; Ross smashes Masterson in the head with a fireplace poker.

As it should be. That final close up on Ross' eyes, the slight flicker of fear left you wondering if she really was simply faking it - that's what movies are about.

And Liz was right - this is one of the best clothes movies I have ever seen. I wanted to steal every piece of Bobby's and Joanna's wardrobe that didn't strike me as hopeless dated (read: skanky).

A better movie than Frank Oz's remake? Definitely. That good a movie on its own? Maybe. B-