Cast: Michael Keaton, Nicole Kidman, Bradley Whitford, Haing S. Ngor, Michael Constantine,
Rebecca Schull
Director: Bruce Joel Rubin
Producers: Jerry Zucker, Bruce Joel Rubin, and Hunt Lowry
Screenplay: Bruce Joel Rubin
Cinematography: Peter James
Music: John Barry
U.S. Distributor: Columbia Pictures
Bob Jones (Michael Keaton) is dying. His kidney cancer has spread to his lungs and the doctors are telling him that the best he can do is enjoy his few remaining months. With his wife, Gail (Nicole Kidman), four months pregnant, Bob's chances of living long enough to see the birth of his only child are slim-to-none. In a last-ditch effort to find a shred of hope, Gail persuades her husband to see a Chinese healer, Mr. Ho (Haing S. Ngor), whose advice -- to let go of all the pain and anger within -- leads Bob to explore his past as he makes video tapes of his last days for his offspring.
When My Life tones down the manipulation, it has some genuinely moving and emotionally honest moments. Ironically, the most "real" scenes are those of Bob videotaping himself. His confessions, reflections, and comments seem far more genuine than any of the numerous melodramatic scenes where Bob confronts the realities of life and death. My Life lays it on far too thick in the drawn-out final fifteen minutes, which is unfortunate (you could hear a lot of nose-blowing in the darkened confines of the theater). Not that this is a surprise; ten minutes into the movie, it's pretty obvious how it's going to end.
Michael Keaton does a fine job as Bob Jones, and, in part, his performance allows parts of My Life to work. Even his most ridiculous scenes (such as where he storms into his doctor's office and informs him: "You can't take away my hope! It's all I have left!") aren't exceptionally painful to sit through. Nicole Kidman's success is sporadic. At times, Gail's grief is palpable; on other occasions, the character becomes indecipherable. Haing S. Ngor is so effective that the scenes featuring Chinese mysticism seem almost credible. This is important, since much of My Life's skeleton is formed from these sessions and what comes out of them.
It's difficult to predict how tear-jerkers will perform at the box office, since this, more than any other class of motion picture, brings out the public's fickle nature. My Life isn't a Russian tragedy, so there's exhilaration amidst the heartbreak, not to mention gallows humor. This is good schmaltz -- decent entertainment that has no qualms about mucking around with the audience's emotions (thus making it a prime "date movie"). Stone-hearted movie-goers beware -- many of you will loathe this film, and those who don't will have a hard time justifying how you could actually like it.
© 1993 James Berardinelli