Chris Columbus is a director I hate almost as much as I hate Lars von Trier, though for different reasons, obviously. Of all the gross movies he’s made, Mrs. Doubtfire is by far the most sickening and loathsome. Bulging at a merciless two-hours-and-five-minutes to accommodate endless “comic” improvisations by star Robin Williams, it manages to move from one TV sit-com cliche to another while slathering every scene with shameless Spielbergian camera push-in's and schmaltz. At least they bothered to make Williams’ character a voice artist in this one. Usually, his movies just made inexplicable hard stops to let him do his five-or-six-wacky-impressions-in-a-row routine, with no regard for it making any sense in the context of the plot. If you’re after a thorough representation of everything repugnant about popular Hollywood movies in the 90s, Mrs. Doubtfire has it all: Robin Williams’ trademark man-boy persona complete with quasi-racist and homophobic gags, doe-eyed children who were probably forced to audition two dozen times to prove they could cry on cue, Sally Field as the estranged wife who’s so sweet and darling you can hardly stand it, Pierce Brosnan as the creepily good-looking (and British of course) romantic rival, Harvey Fierstein as the cliche non-threatening gay uncle, implausible plot coincidences present only because Columbus and the writers didn’t think it was worthwhile coming up with a plot that didn’t require the audience to play dumb, and, last but not least, just the right pop songs on the soundtrack to make the scenes extra hilarious, songs that relate to cross-dressing in some way, like ‘Walk Like a Man’ and ‘Dude Looks Like a Lady’ and ‘Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag.’ And don’t forget ‘Jump Around,’ for the scene where kids are jumping around. God forbid a scene goes by without an amusingly appropriate song underneath it. The whole thing just reeks of boardroom thinking, the end product of dozens of executives all making sure this or that proven successful element has been crammed into it, like a Frankenstein’s monster put on display before covering up the stitches holding together all the mismatched body parts. Worst of all, the basic notion that Williams’ make-up as Mrs. Doubtfire is so great that even his wife and children don’t recognize him is completely insane, which the movie fails to use to its advantage. I would have been impressed if the family immediately knew it was dad in drag and just played along anyway. Or why not sprinkle pixie dust on them to dull their ability to truly see him? Both options are better than being expected to believe that no one can tell it’s Williams in disguise. That’s the problem in a nutshell. The characters are too dumb to recognize Williams, but the audience has to recognize Williams or else there’s no comedy. Are we supposed to relate to the characters because they’re stupid or in spite of that fact? That Columbus never bothered to think about stuff like that and come up with a smart solution is why he sucks as director.
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