By Stephanie Zacharek
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Voice Film Club
By Chris Klimek
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Amy Nicholson
By David Konow
The idea of destiny--especially the notion that two people are fated to meet and fall in love--is a load of crap, but a surprising number of people buy into it. Probably for that reason it has proved to be a fairly popular component in movie romances, City of Angels and Sliding Doors being two recent examples. The latest is Next Stop Wonderland, starring the always watchable Hope Davis (The Myth of Fingerprints, The Daytrippers). A hit at 1997's Sundance Festival, the picture is smart enough--and just cynical enough--not to alienate the skeptical, although director/co-writer (and editor) Brad Anderson clearly counts himself among the spiritually faithful.
Set in Boston, the movie is structured like Claude Lelouch's 1975 film And Now My Love, which followed the lives of two strangers--a man and a woman--whose paths come perilously close to converging but never actually cross until the final moments of the film when they fall in love at first sight. Because, of course, it was meant to be.
The would-be lovers in Next Stop Wonderland (Wonderland is a station on the MBTA's Blue Line) are Erin (Davis), a smart, attractive, but chronically depressed night-shift nurse, and Alan (Alan Gelfant), an ambitious ex-plumber pursuing his dream of becoming a marine biologist.
Dumped by her slovenly, self-absorbed, Greenpeace/Save the Whales-and-all-the-Indian-tribes-too boyfriend Sean (Phil Hoffman), Erin becomes bitter, cranky and even more negative. Her stylish, high-powered mother (Holland Taylor, wonderful with an "Unsinkable" Molly Brown vivaciousness that still allows a glimpse of vulnerability) tries to rouse her from her torpor, even placing an ad in the personals column in Erin's name.
Erin, who mopes around while insisting that she is happy being alone, finally gives in and checks the messages from her prospective suitors. Sixty-two men have phoned, and in a deftly handled, very funny sequence, she proceeds to meet with each of them at a nearby bar. The men range from hopeless losers to attractive assholes--the kind who lie and say they're single. Nearly all of them possess an inflated self-image, and each one utters the same stupid come-on lines.
Meanwhile, Alan spends his days at the Boston Aquarium as a volunteer diver (swimming around inside a huge fish tank, doing whatever it is volunteer divers do). The rest of the time he is at school, fending off the advances of a randy classmate, drinking with his brother and his brother's friends (whose careless attitude about women he abhors), and trying to pay off his debt to a loan shark.
Anderson and his co-writer, Lyn Vaus (who, just for the record, is also a man), come up with some clever, near-miss scenarios for their two protagonists: They nearly meet at the Aquarium, they frequent the same bar (albeit at different hours), and pass each other constantly on the subway (one on the platform, the other inside the train).
The script contains some extremely choice lines, most of them observations on the male species. While the men aren't as reprehensibly caddish as in Neil LaBute's In the Company of Men, they still have much to answer for. Kudos to Misters Anderson and Vaus for painting such an unflattering but honest portrait of their sex. (And, no, not all the male characters are schmucks; just the majority of them.)
The script also has its weaknesses. As good as Davis is, her character never seems to grow. When we meet Erin, she is droopy and morose, and it's difficult to believe she became that way only after Sean dumped her. (What is she doing with an annoying slob like Sean anyway?) Even her mother remarks that Erin has been unhappy for many years. The film suggests, but never states, that Erin has never recovered from her beloved father's death; his passing obviously had something to do with her decision to drop out of Harvard Medical School. But that story strand is never explored.
Furthermore, the morose, droopy Erin has practically nothing in common with the sly, very together woman who faces the onslaught of suitors who have answered her personal ad. When she finally meets a man she thinks she might like (no, not Alan, but a sexy Brazilian musicologist played by Jose Zuniga), she still blows hot and cold. What ever happened to character development?
One explanation, believe it or not, may be found in the film's musical score, which consists almost exclusively of bossa nova and samba numbers. Apparently, Brazilian music combines happiness and sadness at the same time, and Erin, who loves the music, is supposed to embody that mixed emotion. For those of us who can only hum a few bars of "The Girl From Ipanema," this explanation doesn't carry much water, and Erin's character ends up inadequately defined, lending the film a sort of hodgepodge feel.
That feeling is accentuated by the shaky, hand-held camera work, which favors a preponderance of close-ups and tight medium shots. The avant-garde, film-school look fits the story well but gives the picture a forced, low-budget indie feel. While too many things about the story don't ring true for the film as a whole to work, there is enough in Next Stop Wonderland to keep the viewer wide awake and entertained.
Next Stop Wonderland
Directed by Brad Anderson; with Hope Davis, Alan Gelfant and Jose Zuniga.
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