Spoiler Alert: kill all robots.
THE BOOK-Written by Ira Levin, released 1972
THE MOVIE(S)-Directed by Bryan Forbes, written by Robert Goldman, released 1975
Directed by Frank Oz, written by Paul Rudnick, released 2004
THE STORY-Stepford, CT is "The Town That Time Forgot." The Eberharts are the newest arrivals, hungry for space and peace. Walter instantly bonds with members of the local Men's Association, but his wife can't connect with the other wives, eerily subservient women whose thoughts revolve around the pursuit of domestic perfection.
MIND THE GAP-The 1970s were the most meaningful decade for American feminism. Increased knowledge begat increased confidence begat increased dissent and at last begat increased political presence. Bodily autonomy and financial freedom were no longer silly little dreams for women. Feminists challenged preconceived notions of desirability and acceptability. Pushback came quick and strong, and not just from paranoid men who viewed activists as whiny, wrathful and unnatural. Housewives resented the implication that their lot wasn't respectable. The Stepford Wives claws out a horrific scenario: frightened husbands turn their wives into pretty, vacant fuck machines fulfilling their preordained role in a healthy society.
The Stepford Husbands represent the nadir of humankind. Viciously selfish, with no qualms over breaking the sacred bonds of husband and wife, mother and child. When Joanna Eberhart asks Men's Association President/Disney-trained mastermind Dale Coba why he's replacing the wives with robots, his response would be hilarious were it not so heartless: "Because we can."
Katharine Ross is a marvelous Joanna, keeping her sympathetic even as suspicion pushes her down the darkest corridors. The few fellow outsiders she encounters --sassy Bobbie, children's author Ruthanne, tennis fiend Charmaine--become her allies in the fight against the fastidious pre-feminist sentiment run rampant in Stepford. Paula Prentiss, as Bobbie, vivifies every scene she's in, her cheerful cynicism a keen counterpart for Joanna's relentless disquiet.
Reduced to a mere cameo in the final frame, Ruthanne and Royal Hendry actually see the book out. She's an author/illustrator of children's books, dedicated to her craft and deadset on avoiding whatever fate's befallen the other women. Royal is a loving, amenable husband. They are also the only black couple in Stepford, and the implication of Ruthanne Hendry as another casualty of callous misogyny is too heartbreaking. Maybe she fights back. Maybe they fight back. Just as the Civil Rights movement shook up the nation, the Hendrys could shake up Stepford. A nice thought.
The 2004 film turns Joanna from photographer into disgraced former TV executive. Bobbie is a writer/recovering alcoholic (redundancy?) and while there's no backhand queen, there is a gay couple, Roger and Jerry. All of whom catch a whiff of rottenness in between all the spa dates, aerobic classes and book clubs. Wow, these other women sure are acting strange. Turns out, it's the master plan of a scorned wife who believes feminism ruined romance!
Nicole Kidman is three-fourths of a good actress half the time as Joanna, and still blows away Matthew Broderick's poor puny Walter. Bette Midler, at least, matches the look of book Bobbie. As the cheating hubby and his diabolical missus, Christopher Walken is reliably demented and Glenn Close is dementedly reliable. (Felt like Sideshow Bob watching Vanessa Redgrave haul ass to Lollapalooza, really.)
Bleh. I'm sure this ludicrously low-effort offering'll one day be considered a camp classic, that's how things work out. I mean, Troop Beverly Hills for God's sake.
BETTER IN YOUR HEAD-Ira Levin fixed readers a PB&J. Another writer, heavier-boned, might've whipped up a Monte Cristo. The difference is in the digestion. Levin's work is fairly short, and all of its demands are emotional, rather than technical. But who needs elaborate metaphor when you've got so corking a story?
The 1974 Stepford Wives was probably a mistake. Not bad, but not great. Too solemn, too sterile. Director Brian Forbes rewrote much of the original script and cast his own wife as a Stepford spouse. Goldman's concept of Playboy bunnies parading around in service of their masters thus bit the dust. Enter floppy hats and floor-length dresses. This is more than a little off; men willing to murder their wives--the mothers of their children--will not want demure housekeepers as replacements. They'll want scantily-clad blowjob queens. It's a stumble the movie never quite recovers from.
The 2004 Stepford Wives was definitely a mistake. To quote Frank Oz himself: "I fucked up." On-set strife and lackluster test screenings (necessitating reshoots which created crippling plotholes) doomed the pic before release. A blatant, fatuous misfire lacking even the most basic self-awareness required of any decent satire.
Read the book immediately. Watch the 1974 film eventually. Avoid the 2004 film eternally.
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