Bewitched

Bewitched
Opens Fri., June 24, at Metro and others

Born into showbiz, writer-director Nora Ephron is enough of a movie classicist to prefer the golden era of stars over our current obsessions with meta and cultural recycling. On its face, this shiny, cheerful adaptation of the TV series Bewitched (1964–72) seems like the worst project for her sensibility (it was co-scripted with her sister, Delia, along with many prior writers). The premise is familiar to everyone on the planet—along with alien planets now watching the reruns 40 light years away. So instead of witch Samantha marrying mortal Darrin in standard sitcom format, we have actor Jack (Will Ferrell), recently demoted to the B-list, now starring in a new TV remake of the series. Determined to dominate the show, he commands that unknown Isabel (Nicole Kidman) be cast opposite him. Problem A: The two essentially fall in love at first sight. Problem B: She's also actually a witch.

It's a cute conceit—what might be called the Charlie Kaufman twist, which would be fine if it were Kaufman, not Ephron, calling the shots. Her Bewitched is a curiously affirmative affair, even though it's set in the snake pit of Hollywood. The big fantasy here is not that witches walk among us, but that niceness and sincerity can ultimately prevail on Sunset Boulevard. Ephron's pleasant if implausible good will is carried considerably by her stars: We never believe for a minute that Ferrell's character could be a jerk, nor that Kidman's would use underhanded tactics to land him. Everyone in the movie refers constantly to their love of the original show (except Isabel, whose father, played by Michael Caine, forbade her to watch), but I certainly don't remember Elizabeth Montgomery being quite so naive as Isabel about money or sex or men. ("What's a dick?" this innocent asks.) She's more like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz or Nurse Betty without the excuse of trauma and amnesia to explain how she guilelessly conquers Hollywood.

That's not to say Kidman can't be funny; she was rather maliciously delightful in To Die For. But any actress can wiggle her nose and wait for CGI to work her magic for her. Here she seems lost. We don't know where witches come from, why they can't watch television shows about witches (would Buffy count?), or what's the appeal of loving us mortals in squaresville. Her wardrobe and dream house in the Valley seem to have been forged from our television fantasies, but Bewitched only belatedly bores a pipeline from witch world to TV land, when Steve Carell arrives doing Paul Lynde as Uncle Arthur. Funny enough, but did the Montgomery and Lynde estates really make it impossible to incorporate original footage into the movie? If you're going to be meta, be meta.

Ferrell is more unleashed than in Melinda and Melinda and more grown-up than in Kicking & Screaming, but Ephron's sunny tone saps him of some of his frantic, flailing power. He's funniest when in a panic, and she and Kidman are too quick to bail him out. Even though Jack is too warm and fuzzy as a character, certain isolated bits make the movie worth watching, like him ardently sniffing Isabel's purse and telling her, "Let's make love in a petting zoo, on the back of a killer whale at Sea World." Then there are the clips of Jack's failed movies on TV: An Onion for Willy, Atticus Rex, and Last Year in Katmandu; each one suggests a sketch you might prefer to Bewitched.

Ferrell and Kidman are most charming in a little midfilm montage on the empty TV Bewitched set—dancing, cavorting, being silly. Here's the safe ground between her unseen witch realm and his "normal" world that she craves but can't quite comprehend. For Ephron, at least, even if there's no magic left anyplace else, you can still find it on a Hollywood soundstage. (PG-13) BRIAN MILLER

Bomb the System
Runs Fri., June 24–Thurs., June 30, at Grand Illusion

Dud to the System is more like it. Made in 2002, the movie consists of a hip-hop score, tripped-out drug moments, and writing on walls. It's like a music video gone wrong. Anthony, aka Blest (Mark Webber), is a white boy from the hood whose claim to fame comes from tagging (or graffiti, as it was once known). He and his friends, Buk 50 (Gano Grills) and Lune (Jade Yorker), use their misspent artistic energy to create their masterpieces on the walls of Manhattan. Meanwhile, the Vandal Squad, a corrupt duo of cops, tries to halt the tagging not with Officer Friendly tactics but by beating the crap out of local troublemakers. Sure, this crew of unruly scribblers is talented, but as Blest's love interest, Alex (Jaclyn DeSantis), points out, what's the purpose of spraying their John Hancocks all over town? Alex's own doodling dames use their talent to voice political views and stand up against injustice—finally some brains. Substitute the spray paint for rap, and you've got a carbon copy of 8 Mile, only it's about six miles short of a decent movie. (R) SARAH MCGUIRE