Joanna Eberhart moves with her husband and two children to the picturesque Connecticut village of Stepford to escape the grime and crime of New York. But she misses her old life and finds Stepford dull and superficial. The women act like TV commercial dolly-birds, whose only desire is to be pretty, fit in and support their families. Where is their individuality, and what do all the men do all night at their mysterious club ?
Like a lot of movies with a killer twist, some people say that once you know the gag in this movie then it's not worth seeing. That completely misses the point. The plot is gripping (and wisely doesn't explain itself too much) but it's the social comment that's particularly incisive and interesting. Most women have to force themselves not to be defined by their relationships to others, and are expected to adhere to the role of glamorous, non-presumptive cook-cleaner-lover-nursemaid without complaint; the movie is a funny, scary, crafty examination of that role taken to the most ludicrous extreme, crystallised when Joanna says, "When you come back there'll be a woman with my name and my face, she'll cook and clean like crazy, but she won't take pictures and she won't be me !". What I find particularly interesting about this is that the male fantasy of what women should be - based on some fifties ideal that never existed - is as prevalent as ever today. Check out the girls section of any toy store and there's nothing but endless rows of pink, ultra-feminised tat. Look at female singers on MTV or women in commercials and they are almost all portrayed as sex objects with nothing to say but look how alluring I am. TV is full of crappy reality shows telling women how to make their home look nicer or how to cook better. Where are the angry broads shouting about this, as there were in the sixties and seventies ? In short, this is a very rich theme, more so now than ever. Technically, the film is terrific; Owen Roizman's photography is a finely-judged mixture of the bland sheen of Stepford's appearance and the dark underbelly of its secrets, with the final scene in the supermarket particularly memorable. The good-but-not-great cast are enjoyable - the show-stealer is Prentiss who is hilarious as the lovably screwy Bobbie; when a statuesque blonde asks her which of two sweet-looking flowers she prefers, her cheerful response is, "Erm, I don't think either one.". Look fast for Dee Wallace as a German maid. Scripted by uber-screenwriter William Goldman and based on a brilliant book by Ira Levin (who also wrote Rosemary's Baby and The Boys From Brazil), and remade as a more overtly comic piece by Frank Oz in 2004. Trivia - Masterson's daughter Mary Stewart - a very successful adult actress, particularly in the nineties - plays one his two children, and Newman (famous here in the UK for selling washing-up liquid on TV would you believe) is the wife of Forbes. A great film about women, made by men.
Like a lot of movies with a killer twist, some people say that once you know the gag in this movie then it's not worth seeing. That completely misses the point. The plot is gripping (and wisely doesn't explain itself too much) but it's the social comment that's particularly incisive and interesting. Most women have to force themselves not to be defined by their relationships to others, and are expected to adhere to the role of glamorous, non-presumptive cook-cleaner-lover-nursemaid without complaint; the movie is a funny, scary, crafty examination of that role taken to the most ludicrous extreme, crystallised when Joanna says, "When you come back there'll be a woman with my name and my face, she'll cook and clean like crazy, but she won't take pictures and she won't be me !". What I find particularly interesting about this is that the male fantasy of what women should be - based on some fifties ideal that never existed - is as prevalent as ever today. Check out the girls section of any toy store and there's nothing but endless rows of pink, ultra-feminised tat. Look at female singers on MTV or women in commercials and they are almost all portrayed as sex objects with nothing to say but look how alluring I am. TV is full of crappy reality shows telling women how to make their home look nicer or how to cook better. Where are the angry broads shouting about this, as there were in the sixties and seventies ? In short, this is a very rich theme, more so now than ever. Technically, the film is terrific; Owen Roizman's photography is a finely-judged mixture of the bland sheen of Stepford's appearance and the dark underbelly of its secrets, with the final scene in the supermarket particularly memorable. The good-but-not-great cast are enjoyable - the show-stealer is Prentiss who is hilarious as the lovably screwy Bobbie; when a statuesque blonde asks her which of two sweet-looking flowers she prefers, her cheerful response is, "Erm, I don't think either one.". Look fast for Dee Wallace as a German maid. Scripted by uber-screenwriter William Goldman and based on a brilliant book by Ira Levin (who also wrote Rosemary's Baby and The Boys From Brazil), and remade as a more overtly comic piece by Frank Oz in 2004. Trivia - Masterson's daughter Mary Stewart - a very successful adult actress, particularly in the nineties - plays one his two children, and Newman (famous here in the UK for selling washing-up liquid on TV would you believe) is the wife of Forbes. A great film about women, made by men.