The Bachelor

by Carl Bennett

Hollywood digs deep for another shallow romantic comedy.

o their credit, Hollywood producers have noted that the already well-excavated mine shaft of old television programs from the 1960s and 1970s that can be turned into feature films will be mined out shortly. Although they missed their chance to create a Bewitched feature film (starring Meg Ryan, with Jim Carrey as Darren, Richard Dreyfuss as Larry Tate, and Shirley MacLaine as Endora), producers will soon turn their eyes to television programs of the 1980s (mark my words: a Punky Brewster feature film must be in the works). At least, producers are also looking to the cinematic past for ideas—opening up long abandoned mine shafts for ideas that will seem fresh to an uninformed public.

The theatrical trailer for The Bachelor reveals immediately the source of its premise. A single shot of Chris O'Donnell being chased by a wave of woman in bridal wear brings to mind Buster Keaton¹s 1925 film Seven Chances, which was itself based on the David Belasco production of Roi Cooper Megrue¹s stage play. With such a funny and inventive predecessor, The Bachelor would have to go a long way to create a funnier comedy. Instead, the producers have taken the film down the romance path, to uneven results.

Warning to men: This is not a romantic date movie, despite the impression your female companion may have about the film. This is a film for women to attend together and grouse about what noncommittal shits men are.

Jimmy Shannon (O'Donnell) has found out that his eccentric uncle (almost taken to high comedy by Peter Ustinov) will be leaving him a fortune, provided that Shannon will be married before he is 30 years old and produce a child in less than 5 years. The problem is that Jimmy is only hours away from turning thirty. He loves beautiful Renée Zellweger but continues to screw up his wedding proposals (you know how men are, gals!). Shannon is plied by a latter-day Laurel and Hardy (Hal Holbrook and Ed Asner) into proposing marriage to a series of Jimmy¹s screwed up ex-lovers (see how the tables are turned?—how clever!), with disasterous results. Word about the fortune ends up on the front page of a newspaper and suddenly Jimmy is chased around San Francisco by hundreds of potential brides (none quite so scary as some of the brides that Buster Keaton faced). Several of the chase shots are either inspired by or lifted from the Keaton film (but the director doesn¹t want you to remember that!). Eventually, despite a number of wrong turns and miscues, O'Donnell and Zellweger are married in a climactic scene that is reminiscent of the fire escape conclusion of Pretty Woman.

Renée Zellweger continues to be the best thing about Renée Zellweger films. The expressive acting and emotional control that plays so intelligently across her face (even in a throw-away film such as The Bachelor ) proves that she is a bright star in the dark firmament of what is the Hollywood ingénue.

The Bachelor is fated to disappear quickly from theater screens, though only to return on home video by March 2000, where it will no doubt be cherished by women who are still struggling with a Pretty Woman view of life and the noncommittal louts they call boyfriends.

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