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Duets (2000) – Movie Review
By Robert L. Jones | September 22, 2000
Paul Giamatti's and Andre Braugher's acting chops still can't rescue the schlockfest that is "Duets"
Karahokey
[xrr rating=2.5/5]
Duets. Starring Gwyneth Paltrow, Huey Lewis, Paul Giamatti, Lochlyn Munro, Angie Dickinson, and Andre Braugher. Cinematography by Paul Sarossy. Edited by Jerry Greenberg. Music by David Newman. Screenplay by John Bynum. Directed by Bruce Paltrow. (Hollywood Pictures/Seven Arts Pictures, 2000, Color, 112 minutes. MPAA Rating: R.)
The origins of this movie are rather simple: Gwyneth Paltrow’s producer father Bruce Paltrow went out and called up favors owed him from everyone he knew in Hollywood to get his little girl the Best Actress Oscar that always eluded his more talented wife (and Gwyneth’s mother), Blythe Danner. So, as payback to daddy for greasing the palms of every has-been and old-timer in the Academy, Gwyneth starred in this strange movie that I am sure has even someone of her average Hollywood talent cringing with embarrassment whenever she screens it.
Basically, the film starts out with Huey Lewis (erstwhile jazzy rocker from the 1980s) starring as Ricky, a karaoke singer who is down on his luck (sort of like the real Huey Lewis). There’s a great full-frontal nudity gratuitous scene though, to let you know he’s a ladies’ man (though not as smoove as Tim Meadows). That one fifteen-second scene comprises the entertainment value of the whole movie.
Next we go to Huey meeting Liv (Gwyneth Paltrow), and instantly the chemistry (oil and water, sorry) begins. Angie Dickinson is pulled out of mothballs for a cameo appearance to give Huey the made-for-TV stock speech, “you’d better take care of my little girl, and not blow it like you usually do.” Then, it’s back to yesteryear oblivion for Police Woman. This is important, because it establishes a sotto voce plot point that Huey and Liv have this “past” together, and a sottissimo voce point that it’s a romantic past.
The subplot of this movie revolves around Todd (Paul Giamatti, who played Howard Stern’s boss Pig Vomit in Private Parts). Giamatti’s actually a good actor, but he must really need the work, since he’s sort of homely, but can actually act (most of the plum roles these days go to good-looking actors who can’t act, like Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise). Anyhow, he finds out all of the sudden that his yuppie suburban life has been a lie and a sham (the movie’s only novel plot point—okay, I’m kidding), so he hits the road in order to become a karaoke singer. Although a rehash of every hackneyed plot fromShoot the Moon to American Beauty, this one seems more plausible since the pitiful dialogue that comes out of Giamatti’s mouth qualifies him for no other work. Another good actor, Andre Braugher, plays a black con on the lamb (Reggie) who befriends Todd. This supplies the movie with a lot of great “buddies on the run” scenes right out of the tradition of Robert Urich/Lorenzo Lamas school of TV cop dramas.
There’s also a subplot revolving around a really cute couple that you forget instantly. But, gosh, they’re so cute, with that “aw shucks” quality that’s right out of the best Elia Kazan and Tennessee Williams…oh, I’m sorry, I meant right out of the best Michael Landon and Sherwood Schwartz scripts.
Anyways, these subplots twist, revolve, meander and basically run out of steam until they conspire to locate—surprise!—all these karaoke singing drifters at this splendiferous karaoke championship. The suspense is notched up to full-tension here, and this is when all the threads of the plot come together. The cute couple almost misses their big break, but gets to sing just in the nick of time; you also find out that Huey and Gwyneth are—shock and surprise!—father and daughter. “Oh my God,” you think to yourself, “what a pervert I must be for thinking that they were lovers, just like the movie was implying all along.” Then you suddenly remember that Bruce Paltrow wrote and directed this, and you’re scratching your head even more. Hmm. Nonetheless, you would have never guessed that Huey was Gwyneth’s father, since he has this nice rich raspyness to his voice, and her flat performance of “Bette Davis Eyes” makes Kim Carnes’ breathy alto sound like Maria Callas.
However, Giamatti and Braugher’s final tune brings the movie crashing—literally—to a climax. Having hidden behind their karaoke alter egos the entire length of the movie, the police finally get wise to the pair. Knowing the cops are closing in, Reggie belts out a convincing “Freebird,” which is the last song you’d ever expect a black guy to sing, since it was by Lynyrd Skynyrd, authors of the Dixiecrat anthem “Sweet Home Alabama.” After the last notes resound hauntingly throughout the hotel lounge, Braugher pulls out a gun, and kills himself in a beautiful and touching tribute to Leoncavallo’s opera I Pagliacci, though I’m sure none of the parties involved in this movie’s production, nor the movie’s intended audience would ever know it.
I gave this movie two-and-a-half stars instead of one, based on the pearls-before-swine performances of Giamatti and Braugher, and also because Duets makes for a great party drinking game: Predict the lame plot; count the bad made-for-TV stock phrases; drink a shot every time someone sings off-key. Viewers please take caution: You will be approaching blood-alcohol poisoning levels after about a half-hour, so think when you drink!
This movie is rated “R” for adult language and situations, nudity and violence. A designated driver is optional.
Robert L. Jones is a photojournalist living and working in Minnesota. His work has appeared in Black & White Magazine, Entrepreneur, Hoy! New York, the New York Post, RCA Victor (Japan), Scene in San Antonio, Spirit Magazine (Canada), Top Producer, and the Trenton Times. Mr. Jones is a past entertainment editor of The New Individualist.
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