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Film: 'House' of slitherin'
Characters' forked tongues leave nasty taste in mouth...

by Renata Polt

Alice's house is really a crowded apartment on the outskirts of Sao Paulo where Alice (Carla Ribas), a 40-ish manicurist, lives with her mother, her boorish husband and her three equally boorish sons. This scene of frustration, boredom and sometimes violence—but mostly of casual cruelty—is a major setting of Alice's House, the debut feature film by documentarian Chico Teixeira. It's a slice of 21st-century Brazilian life that left a nasty taste in my mouth.

Dona Jacira, the grandmother, is the closest to a decent human being we meet in this bunch. She cooks, cleans and does the laundry for the family, who treat her like a servant. Dona Jacira's main pleasure is her radio program, a talk show that offers horoscopes, miracle cures and free sets of cooking pots.

Magic charms and potions figure heavily in the women's lives: When a teenage neighbor comes to seek Alice's help in winning the love of the (much older, married) man she's set her sights on, Alice and Jacira give her a perfume called "Grovel at My Feet." (FYI: it works.)

Alice's sons range from the pubescent Junior, his mother's darling, who's studying the arts of seduction with his older brothers, to the macho Lucas and Edinho, who steals from his grandma and turns tricks to earn spending money. Long scenes are devoted to the boys lying around watching TV, squabbling and talking about women. Their interests range from sex to stuff (sneakers, CD players).

Alice's husband Lindomar screws every young thing he can, but even before she's fully aware of that, Alice starts a flirtation with Nilson, an old boyfriend who's now married to Alice's customer Carmen. Alice and Carmen have a kind of therapist/patient relationship, but Carmen, always bragging about her sex life, lies to Alice and Alice deceives Carmen.

Alice's House is a study in people whose moral sense seems to come from a different planet than mine. I found it fascinating to watch, as I'd be fascinated watching the lives inside a snake pit.

• • • •

After all the hoopla of the holidays—when somber fare rules the silver screen—27 Dresses is a refreshingly frothy change of pace, thanks to Katherine Heigl, who parlays a little Knocked Up charm into a Meg Ryan-esque quest for her happily-ever-after.

It's sloppy seconds for perpetual bridesmaid Jane Nichols (Heigl) who eats, sleeps and breathes the elusive enchantment of weddings. Jane is such a fan that friends and acquaintances look to her for all manner of arduous nuptial planning. Consequently, it's always the bridesmaid, never the bride for an earnest second fiddle who focuses on everyone else's happiness at the expense of her own.

To make matters worse, this sincere singleton toils in the taffeta ghetto while nurturing an unhealthy crush on her clueless but hunky boss George (Edward Burns). Salvation arrives in the form of Jane's glamour-puss sister Tess (Malin Akerman), a flighty supermodel who's just what the doctor ordered for support and distraction.

At least that was the plan. Tess and George fall head over heels on sight, leaving Jane with a clunky finish to her knight-in-shining-armor fantasies and yet another invitation to duty as a not-so-merry maid.

Enter classic spoiler Kevin (James Marsden), a cynical New York journalist who meets Jane at a friend's wedding (natch) and considers her plight perfect fodder for his popular "Commitments" column. Will Kevin get more than he bargained for?

There's absolutely nothing new to this Cinderella story that telegraphs its routine complications with blithe indifference to its formulaic forerunners. Heigl is a surprising master of physical comedy while radiating a girl-next-door appeal that's hard to resist, even when packaged with an overdose of winsome window-dressing.

And then there are the dresses, 27 to be exact, frilly testament to the romantic secondary and homage to the nice girls who don't always finish last.—Jeanne Aufmuth