November 26, 2003 | The makers of The Country Bears have ample reason for Thanksgiving this week: No longer can they be accused of perpetrating the dopiest movie ever adapted from a theme-park attraction. The Haunted Mansion , yet another attempt by Walt Disney Productions to turn a Disneyland ride into a megaplex feature, is nominally a comedy. But it’s so unfunny, it’s almost scary.
To be sure, there’s nothing inherently wrong, and a quite a bit that’s potentially right, with cinema of this corporately synergistic sort. (Just ask the millions who savored the rousing excitement of T he Pirates of the Caribbean .) And, truth to tell, even Country Bears , a tragic victim of critical overkill, had a certain retro-wacky charm. But Haunted Mansion is a veritable charm-free zone. Merely loud and lumbering when it should be fast and furious, this overproduced behemoth plods from scene to scene at the lethargic pace of a state fair pony ride for pre-schoolers.
Look beyond the lavish sets and impressive special effects, and you’ll discern a spooky-kooky plot that, 50 or 60 years ago, might have better served Bob Hope or Abbott and Costello.
Eddie Murphy – desperately eager to please in his super-smiley, family-friendly mode – plays Jim Evers, a workaholic real estate agent who takes a detour while on vacation with his wife (Marsha Thomason) and their tweener children (Aree Davis, Marc Johnson Jefferies) to scope out a hot property: A magnificently decrepit mansion tucked away in a remote corner of Louisiana swampland. Unfortunately, the mansion’s courtly owner (Nathaniel Parker) and his faithful butler (Terence Stamp, looking like his older, deader brother) are ghosts. Even more unfortunately, Jim doesn’t grasp the obvious until long after it’s apparent to the least sophisticated tykes in the audience.
There is much talk about a long-standing curse, lots of panicky screaming and running, and a great deal of interaction with comically creepy supporting players (including Wallace Shawn as a whiny servant, and Jennifer Tilly as a sage apparition in a crystal ball). But very, very little of this – hell, none of this – is the least bit amusing.
