**/**** Image C+ Sound B+ Extras A-
starring Bette Midler, Barbara Hershey, John Heard, Spalding Gray
screenplay by Mary Agnes Donoghue, based on the novel by Iris Rainer Dart
directed by Garry Marshall
by Travis Mackenzie Hoover It's long been easy sport to mock Beaches, whose sins are multiple and numerous. This is, after all, a so-called chick-flick starring Bette Midler, directed by Garry Marshall, and featuring an easy-listening hit that's even blander than the reputation of the film it supports. Yet despite these warning signs, somehow they fail to justify the contempt to which the film is typically subjected. Lord knows it's not a good movie, but its treatment of life for women beyond men is anomalous enough to make you wonder what might have happened with a filmmaker at the helm. Given that Marshall would never again direct a movie in which a female character achieved something on her own (he followed up Beaches with the horrible Pretty Woman and The Princess Diaries), the rarity of the occurrence keeps you mildly interested, if generally enervated.
True, some pretty obvious odd-coupling happens. Aspiring singer CC Bloom (Bette Midler) and wealthy wallflower Hillary Whitney (Barbara Hershey) meet by chance as children and keep up a correspondence. CC is everything Hillary wants to be–bold, brash, and self-assured–while CC is desperate for the financial stability Hillary's had her whole life. An orgy of emotional climaxes ensues as the two wax and wane: CC achieves fame and then loses it; Hillary motions towards becoming a lefty lawyer before accepting a loveless marriage to an upper-class twit; and fortunes change for the pair more often than most people refresh their underwear. Thus the film falls into the big trap of the chick flick: a tendency towards formlessness, a mere succession of random hardships that go off like explosions in a Schwarzenegger flick.
But while there's no mistaking this for genuine drama, there's a very good reason it's held on so long in the weepie canon. Buried under the emotional pornography is a narrative line about two women who depend on each other rather than on men–and while some of the men get unfairly trashed (such as a passed-around theatre-director beau played by John Heard), there's the unusual sense that this is a movie dealing with the primacy of female friendship. Unlike drippy, self-castigating Bridget Jones, the Beaches heroines don't rely upon the false idol of redemption-by-marriage. Husbands and boyfriends come and go, careers rise and fall, but CC and Hillary both have a woman as their bedrock.
I suppose what it boils down to is presentation. Time was when "women's pictures" were the domain of people like Sirk or Minnelli–solid Hollywood craftsmen who would deal with the emotions at hand seriously and beautifully. Now they're consigned to the oblivion of television hacks with no eye and less comprehension of events; the Garry Marshalls of the world deliver as many emotional climaxes as possible without considering a theme or even a connecting thread. It's because of them that an entire genre has atrophied into schlock, and that, despite its better instincts, Beaches is one of their numbers. Still, as far as Marshall's work goes, it could be worse. Much, much worse.
THE DVD
Touchstone's Special Edition DVD reissue of Beaches leaves something to be desired. The 1.85:1, 16×9-enhanced image is a little fuzzy at times, partly due to not only the copious amounts of Vaseline on the lens, but also a lackadaisical approach to definition. Some fairly good colour saturation comes at a price of video noise (inexcusable circa 2005) and flecking. Meanwhile, upgrading the audio to Dolby Digital 5.1 was hardly worth the trouble: there's no real surround excitement to the talk-heavy proceedings, and the remix doesn't pull any atmospheric rabbits out of its hat.
Extras, happily, are another story. The breakdown:
Commentary with Garry Marshall
The director provides one of his patented cuddly-daddy condescension numbers, pointing out obvious plot points and useless information (that's a real airport sign, kids) in tones generally reserved for four-year-old children. It's the one big disappointment in the way of special features.
Mayim Bialik Remembers Beaches (12 mins.)
The actress, long out of her "Blossom" years and having apparently put her showbiz career behind her, recalls the audition and rehearsal process for one of her first big roles, that of the young Bette Midler. The conversation is fascinating for showing someone outside the entertainment sphere looking back in, offering a priceless example of stocktaking after the fact.
Beaches Bloopers (7 mins.)
This is not the obligatory unbroken series of fluffed lines, but a gag reel full of snarky voice over intended for cast and crew only. Welcome respite from blooper-reel convention as well as the saccharine tone of the movie.
Barbara Hershey Screen Test (6 mins.)
A hotel lobby serves as the backdrop to Hershey's test, which for all of its slapped-together hurriedness has more power and looseness than anything in Beaches proper. Plus, Midler squeals so loud at one point that she nearly blows out the mike.
"Wind Beneath My Wings" Video (4 mins.)
There's no redeeming this hokey song or its gossamer-tinged video, wherein little girls play under a boardwalk as Midler warbles horrible treacle–although it does hark back to a simpler time when videos didn't cost as much as the Peruvian national debt.
AFI's 100 Years/100 Songs Clip (1 min.)
Blink and you'll miss this clip from one of the AFI's dubious list specials that finds Midler expounding on the appeal of the film's signature tune. Rest assured no great secrets are revealed beyond its rank of #44.
Rounding out the package: Beaches' theatrical trailer.
123 minutes; PG-13; 1.85:1 (16×9-enhanced); English DD 5.1, French Dolby Surround; English, English SDH, French subtitles; DVD-9; Region One; Touchstone
