Review of The Cemetery Club

Ivan Menchell's screenplay for "The Cemetery Club", taken from his play, is a collection of lightly dramatic and comedic episodes which result in a half-hearted sitcom; it's a Jewish "Golden Girls" for under-achievers, and nobody involved with the picture looks as though they had great hopes for it. Three girlfriends in their 60s, all Jewish widows, grieve together, laugh together, attend weddings and funerals together, but when one of the gals thinks she's found a decent man, the other two interfere (out of jealousy or fear or maybe a bit of both). Possibly hoping to target the "Moonstruck" crowd, director Bill Duke plays on our nostalgic feelings for a cast full of familiar faces, warmly sentimental music on the soundtrack, and antiquated comic shtick which may strike some viewers as funny so long as they're into reruns. For a few brief moments, Ellen Burstyn and Danny Aiello create a cheery romantic rapport, but her introduction to him (fighting with a groundskeeper and being bitten in the leg!) is a gag that even Mel Brooks might have passed on. Writer Menchell is very fond of meet-cutes and warmly bitchy put-downs, and Burstyn has to struggle to carve out an interesting character (it doesn't help that she's weighed down with wigs and scarves and jackets). With its teary-eyed laughter and fake Jewish come-on, the movie appears to be a total fraud, yet there was the germ of a good idea here, particularly with Aiello's cab-driver (he's actually more interesting than the women). The capable cast certainly makes it watchable, but Duke's inconsistent rhythm and indecisive narrative puts a wall around these people--we don't even know for sure if these are likable people, so generic is the writing and handling. ** from ****