Bewitched (2005)

Against the advice of her father, Nigel Bigelow (Michael Caine), Isabel (Nicole Kidman) decides to give up witchcraft and live as a human. At the same time, obnoxious, failing, film actor Jack Wyatt (Will Ferrell) agrees to take the part of Darrin in the TV remake of Bewitched, demanding that an unknown be cast as his witch wife, Samantha, so that he won’t be upstaged. He happens upon Isabel, and gives her the part, unaware of how well she actually fits it.

I could go on for paragraphs about the lack of originality displayed in basing yet another film on a “classic” TV show, but every other critic already has. They are right, but I hate to repeat what others have said in a diatribe about originality. So, onto the film, as if there never was a series about a cute-as-a-bug witch trying to live with a mortal.

Bewitched is two films. One is a light, if somewhat vacuous feature in which charming actors create a warm, pleasant piece of fluff that’s fitting for a cold night, a warm fire, and some caramel corn.  The other is a loud, post-modern-wink-at-the-audience, slapstick routine. Neither are particularly funny. It shouldn’t be a surprise that Kidman and Caine are in the charming one, and Ferrell…isn’t.

Kidman is an actress, along with being a beauty, and has enough charisma to overcome the mediocre material. When the focus is on her, the film sails along, and if I didn’t laugh, that was OK as I had a great desire to invite her over for tea. Caine, another person acquainted with the art of acting (do you gather I’m implying not everyone in the movie is?), is nearly as captivating, and if the jokes he’s given aren’t hilarious, at least they are delivered with grace.

But then there is funnyman Ferrell. He isn’t playing Jack Wyatt. He’s playing Will Ferrell, doing his regular shtick.  That’s fine when it’s funny, but he’s given no help by writers Nora and Delia Ephron, so he ends up leaping about like a frantic, yappy, little dog. He delivers every line like he’s still on Saturday Night Live, and maybe if he’s a little more raucous, the studio audience will laugh out of embarrassment.

Worse still, this isn’t supposed to be a wacky, joke-a-second comedy like Stripes or Ghostbusters. This is structured as another Nora Ephron, syrupy-sweet, romantic comedy (You’ve Got Mail, Sleepless in Seattle), with the accent on the romance.  With Ferrell in the lead, it’s like watching Jerry Lewis playing a Cary Grant part.

For any romance story to work, the viewer should want the two leads to get together, but Jack touching Isabel isn’t enchantment, its defilement. When he puts a hand on her, I want her to rush home quickly and bathe. Ah, now there would be a much better movie.