FILM: The Nice Old Party
Maid in Manhattan
There is a most remarkable film on release at cinemas at the moment.
It is essentially a slushy Hollywood romance, whose principal star is "Latin diva" Jennifer Lopez (or, to use the modern idiom, J-Lo). Conscious as I am of stepping onto the hallowed turf of ERO's answer to Barry Norman, Simon Gordon (must all the great film critics possess reversible names?), I should confess awareness that such populist fare rarely induces comment in the cinema section, or any other section, of this website, let alone inspires the reviewer to use the word "remarkable".
However, though in this amateur's opinion Maid in Manhattan is actually a well-shot, gently amusing, if predictable film, with a pleasant soundtrack, cinematic criticism is not the primary purpose of this piece. I shall leave that to the professionals.
No, what I find remarkable enough about this movie to merit comment is the other central character opposite J-Lo's maid, Marisa. This is a state assemblyman called Chris Marshall, played by Ralph Fiennes, attempting with a modicum of success to return Britain's compliments at last for Dick van Dyke's celebrated mockney accent in Mary Poppins.
Assemblyman Marshall is running for the Senate. Though occasionally one is meant to see that his do-gooderey borders on the naive — Marisa chides him for not living in one of the tough neighbourhoods so dear to his heart — one is never left in any doubt that he is indeed a doer of good. He supports literacy programmes; he has an excellent voting record on environmental issues; he is involved in housing projects; he gets his face on the cover of Newsweek, under the headline 'Politics And The Working Class'; he brushes aside his aggressive spin doctor to let young kids ask questions at press conferences; he is a genial, affable, truly caring, sharing guy. And he is, of course, in time-honoured Hollywood fashion, whereby if it is not made explicit it is always at least implied, a Democrat . . .
Er, well, no actually. He is, in fact, up front and on your screen, a card-carrying, third-generation member of the Grand Old Party itself.
No, you did not misread that. The first clue that this is not going to be your regular Republican-bashing, Democrat-glorifying movie comes when Marisa's son attempts to read out a project work on Richard Nixon to his classmates. After a few stuttering moments, the ten year old flees the stage in a fit of nerves, but those moments provide sufficient time for the film's producers to spread a little more poison about the 37th President, should they wish. Plenty of time for the little boy to blurt out, say, "carpet-bombing", "Tricky Dicky" and "Watergate" or somesuch standard lines. Instead, he tells us: 'Richard Milhous Nixon was a contradiction. Although he was the only US President ever to resign from office, he opened the gates of the East to the West'.
Hmm, but, just when it's getting interesting, stagefright takes hold. Perhaps the kid saw a Hollywood exec scowling at him off set, fresh from a Democratic National Committee fundraiser. Then again, perhaps not. Cue to a hotel lift, crammed into which we find the same child with Assemblyman Marshall, whom he recognises. It's becoming apparent that Lo-mi is a slightly precocious political anorak, but, being the saint described above, Marshall's natural instinct is to offer benign encouragement.
It is in this scene that we discover the Assemblyman is a Republican. 'But don't all Republicans lie?' asks Li'l Lo. 'Nixon lied'. Reverting to Hollywood type? Hardly. Marshall grins down indulgently at his young interlocutor. If the ten year old's innocent observations symbolise the pervasive influence of media bias, then his newfound hero is the living embodiment of the phrase "think again". As they leave the lift, the boy (or is it the studio?) is thinking again already: 'Anyway, Democrats and Republicans are all the same, these days'. Marshall is amused once more, but, in received movie wisdom, Democrats and Republicans, like the cowboys with the white hats and the cowboys with the black hats, most definitely are not the same. This is a startling change of tone.
So, our favourite Republican moves on to take a relaxed stroll through the park with his big, friendly dog (an animal lover too!), with the boy and with the boy's mother, J-Lo herself, all the while casually disregarding the paparazzi tailing him. The movie, being romantic fluff, wants you to concentrate on the unlikelihood of any high-profile politician happily and sincerely undertaking such a normal venture. There is also, at this stage, the equally unlikely proposition that Marshall does not know Marisa is a humble maid, because she is dressed in one of the hotel guests' expensive outfits, but I shall not spoil any more of the dramatic effect for you. The more interesting, unlikely fact upon which to dwell is that this is a Republican politician whose wholesome goodness is being caked on with a trowel across your cinema screen.
Marisa gives us a broader insight into her boy's school project; it is a study of the 1970s. This has nurtured in him a rather unnatural interest in the oeuvre of Simon and Garfunkel, but it is the politics of the decade which really captivate him and clearly it is the politics of the first half of the decade which captivate him most, for we hear nothing of Saint Jimmy of Plains, Cyrus Vance or any others from the Democrats' pantheon. Instead, J-Lo tells us, her screen son has just finished reading the memoirs of Henry Kissinger (or, to use the modern idiom, H-Kiss, or very possibly, K-Hiss). When she recounts his panic attack during the Nixon seminar to Marshall, the Assemblyman reveals that he too suffers from rostrum butterflies and lets the boy into his secret method of overcoming them — twisting paperclips. Aww shucks, we never knew Republicans were so cuddly! [Editor's note: Comprehend, all ye who mock Owen Paterson. If he is indeed merely IDS' paperclip pusher, he is nonetheless performing a vital service to one of the great orators of our age.]
And on it goes. There is no political twist in the tail; Marshall is not revealed to be a monster in the end. After the obligatory bump in the middle of the story, he tracks Marisa down and she becomes the happy wife of a newly-elected senator : a Republican senator for — pleasing extra touch, this — New York State. Perhaps Senator Rodham Clinton's hubby has become a pain in too many Hollywood necks through his alleged efforts to become an ageing version of Bruce Willis?
Or perhaps Maid in Manhattan signifies that the efforts of Sleazeball Bill's Republican successor to court the USA's Hispanic vote are paying off spectacularly? Derided for those knock-kneed attempts to salsa alongside Ricky Martin at his inaugural celebrations, George W Bush now has a Jennifer Lopez film to cast the Republicans in brilliant light before Hispanic audiences and indeed before the wider masses. Inadvertent or not, it's a sea-change.
You should go and see it. You will not leave the cinema intellectually stimulated, but you will be mightily refreshed. And you can always drool over J-Lo.
Adrian Muldrew's biography of Owen Paterson, Epistemological Episodes from a Labefactious Life, will be available from Aurum in October.
Adrian Muldrew, March 20, 2003 09:08 PM