December 12, 2002 | Adjectives such as “nice” and “pleasant” may seem like left-handed compliments – or, worse, ironic putdowns – in an era when too of what passes for film criticism has been reduced to extremes of fulsome praise or ferocious sarcasm. But those are the very words, along with “charming” and maybe even “sweet,” that I would use to describe Maid in Manhattan, an undemandingly agreeable trifle that should satisfy anyone in search of an old-fashioned Cinderella story at the megaplex.
Pretty Woman pretty much set the modern standard for this particular genre, igniting the superstardom of Julia Roberts while spinning a rags-to-riches fable (or, more accurately, a streetwalker-to-trophy-wife fantasy) with a lovestruck Prince Charming providing propulsion for upward mobility.
Maid in Manhattan is scarcely less improbable, but it comes off as a marginally more rooted in the real world. Better still, it has Jennifer Lopez – who already is a superstar, thank you very much, but who’s also smart enough to dim her luster just enough to be credible as Marisa Ventura, a hard-working chambermaid in a tony New York hotel. The very best thing one can say about her performance is that, throughout the movie, it’s easy to accept her as someone who makes beds, and doesn’t have them made for her.
Even on those few occasions when she’s allowed to be drop-dead glamorous – that is, when she’s unmistakably J-Lo – Lopez cleverly sends a message very similar to one offered in the lyrics of her latest chart-climbing single: She may go from a little to a lot, but she’s still just Marisa from the block.
Specifically, Marisa hails from a block in the Bronx, where she lives in an apartment with Ty (Tyler Garcia Posey), her precocious young son, a grade-schooler who, in one of the movie’s more bizarre moments, prepares for a history pageant at his school by writing a speech about Richard M. Nixon. (He flubs the speech, it should be noted, but his embarrassment has little or nothing to do with his topic.)
Fortunately for his mother, and for the movie, a much nicer Republican politician, Senate hopeful Christopher Marshall (Ralph Fiennes), checks into the hotel where Marisa works. Screenwriter Kevin Wade nearly strips a few gears while grinding the plot mechanics, but he arranges for the couple to meet cute by having Chris walk into a room just as Marisa, at the urging of a feisty co-worker (scene-stealer Marissa Matrone), dons an expensive dress hanging in the closet of a snippy, gold-digging guest (played, if not overplayed, by Natasha Richardson).
Chris jumps to conclusions, and tumbles into an immediate infatuation. At first, Marissa is too embarrassed to reveal her true working-class status. The more she’s around Chris, though, the harder it is for her to shatter his illusions (and her own romantic wishdreams). One thing leads to another, and happily-ever-aftering is delayed for a playfully suspenseful but not unreasonable period of time.
Wayne Wang, a filmmaker whose diverse credits range from mainstream entertainments (The Joy Luck Club, Anywhere But Here) to edgy indie fare (Chinese Box, The Center of the World), does a nice job of keeping the mood light and lively. He gets fine work from a splendid supporting cast – including Bob Hoskins as an avuncular hotel butler, and Stanley Tucci as Chris’ campaign manager – and even coaxes a winning romantic-lead performance from Fiennes, an actor usually given to darker, scarier roles.
At heart, of course, Maid in Manhattan is a star vehicle. But Lopez gives a generous and self-effacing star performance, leaving the impression of a team player bent on serving the material, not a diva intent on upstaging her co-stars. That, too, is nice.
