Cast: John Travolta, Vince Vaughn, Teri Polo, Matthew O'Leary, Steve Buscemi
Director: Harold Becker
Producers: Harold Becker, Donald De Line, Jonathan D. Krane
Screenplay: Lewis Colick
Cinematography: Michael Seresin
Music: Mark Mancina
U.S. Distributor: Paramount Pictures
Domestic Disturbance is another in a long line of "enemy within" thrillers. This is a popular brand of motion picture that places the villain, often a psychotic individual or sociopath, in the midst of a happy family. So there have been films with killer babysitters, killer roommates, killer mothers-in-law, killer husbands, etc. At their best, these so-called psychological thrillers tend to be overwrought and unconvincing. At their worst, they are virtually unwatchable. Such is the case with Domestic Disturbance, a movie that begs the question of who bears the greater responsibility for its failure - the director or the screenwriter?
For centuries, stepparents have been regarded as suitable villains for everything from fairy tales (who can forget Cinderella's dysfunctional family problems?) to slasher movies. There have been a few good movies featuring bad stepfathers and stepmothers (the low-budget Terry O'Quinn thriller, The Stepfather, comes to mind), but most, like Domestic Disturbance, are exploitative schlock. To be completely accurate, this movie isn't about a stepfather, because the man in question hasn't adopted the child. But it's easier to call him a stepfather than the guy who's the second husband to the kid's mother. And, regardless of what he's called, it doesn't make a bit of difference when considering the movie's quality (or, to be precise, lack thereof).
Domestic Disturbance is being touted as a John Travolta Film, even though the top-billed actor has what amounts to little more than a beefed-up supporting role. His Frank Morrison essentially sits on the sidelines until the very end, when he becomes involved in the climactic and obligatory Big Fight Scene. The central character is Frank's son, Danny (Matthew O'Leary), who is placed in the unenviable position of having his mother marry a murderer. Of course, Susan (Teri Polo) doesn't know that her new spouse, Rick Barnes (Vince Vaughn), has a shady past - nor does anyone else in the small Maryland town, where he is universally beloved. Then Danny sees clean-cut Rick stab his sleazy buddy, Ray (Steve Buscemi), to death, and it doesn't take long before Rick knows that Danny knows, and... well, you can guess the rest. It doesn't take much imagination. Screenwriter Lewis Colick was apparently writing the script on autopilot.
Speaking of auto-pilot, "workmanlike" would be too kind a word to describe director Harold Becker's lackluster job. The movie fails to generate anything close to suspense, and some of the scenes that are supposed to be filled with a sense of menace are unintentionally comical. Becker's attempts to develop characters are lazy - there's not an individual in this film whose personality isn't constructed from a series of cliches. The ending is an embarrassment - everything is so confused and contrived that it's likely to make even the most forgiving movie-goer cringe. Realizing that the man who directed Domestic Disturbance is the same man responsible for The Onion Field and Sea of Love is enough to boggle the mind.
It's hard to imagine that the American public will embrace something as ill-conceived and poorly constructed as Domestic Disturbance. The fact is that most of these "enemy within" thrillers have not been big box-office successes - for every The Hand that Rocks the Cradle, there are dozens that quickly head for video (like an earlier 2001 entry, The Glass House). I guess the thought here is that Travolta's name on the marquee will lure viewers into theaters, but such thinking may be the result of overestimating the actor's clout. Travolta's failures outnumber his successes, and his recent drawing power has been anemic. The performance of Swordfish, which can as easily be attributed to Halle Berry's topless scene as to Travolta's presence, can not efface the blotch on the Saturday Night Fever star's resume caused by Battlefield Earth.
Movies like Domestic Disturbance leave me dispirited. There's nothing likable, exciting, or intriguing about them. Does my heart quail within my breast at the thought of a child in danger? No, because that child is no more vital than a cardboard cut-out. Do I cheer with gusto when the villain gets his comeuppance? No, because I don't have strong enough feelings for him to care one way or the other. I am as capable as anyone else of enjoying a well-crafted thriller, but guano like Domestic Disturbance doesn't even masquerade as one. The feeble and utterly predictable payoff of this movie isn't worth the investment of nine minutes of one's life, let alone 90.
© 2001 James Berardinelli