Beloved

National Review, Nov 23, 1998 by John Simon

Stories of the supernatural may march to a different logic, but some kind of consistency is still indicated. It may just be possible to play tennis without a net, but dispensing also with rackets puts an undue burden even on ghosts, to say nothing of audiences. This near-three-hour obstacle race is handsomely shot by Tak Fujimoto, though the grandly artistic effects with differing color saturation within the same frame, indeterminacy of focus, skewed camera angles, etc., manage also to contribute their share of opacity to the goings-on. And Demme's direction, hell-bent on effects, lets the affects go begging. Oprah Winfrey, our first black billionairess, promptly acquired the movie rights on publication 11 years ago, and has tirelessly striven to bring the novel to the screen, which, with help from the even better-heeled Disney folk, she finally achieved.

Not one to keep her light under a bushel, Oprah stars herself as Sethe. Reviewers have been sharply divided over her performance, which strikes me as sufficient unto the day. Kimberly Elise is fine as Denver, and the irresistible Thandie Newton enchants as Beloved, despite table manners to make Laughton's Henry VIII blush. Once as highly evolved as Beloved, even protoplasms might practice a little prandial protocol. Danny Glover is a likable Paul D., in a performance not a drop de trop. Beah Richards is rousing in Baby Suggs's preaching scenes, and any number of other worthy actors toil to succor the needy screenplay by Akosua Busia, Richard LaGravenese, and Adam Brooks-all in vain.

Most saddening is the excellent Rachel Portman's music, which epitomizes the desperation of this venture. It goes from choric quasi-spirituals to angelic choirs, from pseudo-African tribal drumming to cutting-edge cacophony plus unearthly horror-movie noises, yet even so, alas, only very infrequently succeeds in diverting our attention from the rest of the movie.

One of the trio of Beloved's screenwriters, Adam Brooks, was also, with Robin Swicord and the insufferable Akiva Goldsman, one of the scenarists on Practical Magic, perhaps implying that the inanities of a major ghost picture cannot be tackled by anything less than an unholy trinity. This film is so crassly stupid and all-around abject that I will mention only its one asset, the presence of the talented and seductive Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman, playing sister witches. Miss Kidman, under all possible and impossible circumstances, always remains bare-legged and barefoot. Given the quality of those limbs and extremities, we may grant the movie one additional asset. But there, with Miss Kidman's toes, the good news ends.