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Early this year, in the psycho-gangster/vampire movie From Dusk Till Dawn, George Clooney of TV's ER kept his head while all about him were losing theirs -- literally. As a slick thief saddled with a lunatic brother (Quentin Tarantino) and beset by demons, Clooney demonstrated poise under duress. His professionalism mirrored his character's as he barreled through bad lines and flimsy situations; he evinced uncomplicated pleasure in performing and a grown-up, humorous wariness that suggested an unspoiled experience of life.
Now, in One Fine Day -- a frazzled romantic comedy with Clooney as a New York Daily News columnist and Michelle Pfeiffer as an ambitious architect -- he proves he's a leading man. And I do mean leading man, not an overgrown brat or one more tremulous incarnation of vulnerable boy James Dean. In this age of eternally teenage suburban superstars and endless gender confusion, he acts as if he enjoys being a guy of the world. What's disappointing about One Fine Day is that it restricts Clooney to playing a character less mature than the aura the actor himself carries into the movie, and it's too frantic to let his costar enjoy being a gal or to let the two of them savor each other's company.
The movie could have been called From Dawn Till Dusk. It tries to be a screwball nightmare about two single parents who fall in love during one punchy workday when each has a career crisis and a kid in tow. Clooney's character Jack Taylor is an arrested -- no, indicted -- adolescent, ogling and ogled by every pretty woman who wafts across the screen. He's actually a single parent in census category only; when his ex-wife (Sheila Kelley) unexpectedly drops off their five-year-old daughter Maggie (Mae Whitman) at his apartment for a week, this weekend dad can't boot up into parental-responsibility mode in time to get the kid and her kindergarten mate Sammy (Alex D. Linz) on a ferry for a school field trip. But Jack is about to take a giant growth leap. Sammy's also-divorced mother Melanie Parker (Pfeiffer), who takes no guff from charming rogues, joins forces with him to keep their kids safe and sound while each of them jumps hurdles on the job.
The setup alone suggests how much weight this light comedy has to carry. Unless Jack gets an on-the-record source for a city hall expose, he'll be discredited and perhaps fired; unless Melanie pulls off a presentation to a couple of powerful clients, her future will be less than assured. Stir in their immediate friction, nascent magnetism, identical cellular phones, and mutual awareness of the ever-shifting ground rules in the war between the sexes and you've got the ingredients for extravagant romantic confusion. Unfortunately the romance doesn't emerge as strongly as the confusion.
Director Michael Hoffman made the underrated 1991 spoof Soapdish. Unlike Jack and Melanie, he can juggle lots of balls without fumbling them or showing his sweat, and he can root both farce and melodrama in spectacular, orchestrated chaos. One Fine Day wants to be an heir to the Tracy-Hepburn movies, not a mere "observational" comedy. But its update of battling-lover jabfests isn't that far removed from today's workplace or family-TV sitcoms. You watch a pair of attractive pros attempt to emerge from one fraught situation after another with good humor intact. Call it a multi-situation comedy. Although Hoffman tweaks it with the visual zip and moment-to-moment urgency you expect from a real live movie and the stars give it some intensity, there's not enough of the magic you crave from a big-screen romance. Clooney and Pfeiffer have chemistry, but it never gets a chance to bubble; you leave the theater not in a glow but in a sort of agreeable fatigue.
The key to Clooney's performance is Jack's underlying serenity -- which in lesser hands might have surfaced as complacency. Jack manages to come off as life-enhancing even when he's irresponsible, doing monkeyshines with his daughter when he should be concentrating on his ex-wife's instructions, or feeding Maggie burgers and fries for breakfast. With his free-swinging physical ease, Clooney conveys Jack's undiminished capacity for happiness despite his painful divorce.
About Melanie you're not so sure. Give Pfeiffer points for generosity as well as skill and savvy: She coexecutive-produced this film and let Clooney run with the playful, amorous role of Jack without softening up Melanie, a woman who has become a control freak in order to survive. Raising her son without help from her rock musician ex-husband, trying to please a child-hating boss, she's a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown -- except she'd never permit herself to go over the edge. But is it life or just a hyperactive screenplay that won't cut Melanie a break? Even her kid is a bigger headache than Jack's. Sammy can't sit still, enjoys jamming things up his nose, and nearly wrecks his mom's big project, while the worst Maggie does is slip away after cats that catch her eye. (True to the gal-punishing bent of the script, that trait doesn't become calamitous until Melanie's in charge of her.) Pfeiffer plays Melanie's excruciating self-discipline, and the desperation under that self-discipline, with admirable honesty. Yet the writers haven't handed Melanie enough psychic "give" for Pfeiffer's healing soulfulness to saturate the material (the way it did in that stressed-out working-class romance Frankie and Johnny).
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