Larger text
Smaller text
Print
E-mail
'Haunted Mansion' visited by formula of movies past
Eddie Murphy pours on the wide-eyed charm in 'The Haunted Mansion'
Walt Disney Pictures
Director: Rob Minkoff
Stars: Eddie Murphy, Terence Stamp, Marsha Thomason
MPAA rating: PG, for frightening images, thematic elements and language
The puzzling line in the credits of "The Haunted Mansion" reads: Based on Walt Disney's "The Haunted Mansion." I've been following Disney credits longer now than the late Mr. Disney and couldn't recall any such feature or short.
It turns out it's another Disney theme park ride -- a la "The Country Bears" and "Pirates of the Caribbean" -- this one dating to 1969.
What a compelling reason to make a movie.
"The Haunted Mansion" is more than a little warmed over from stronger stock such as Bob Hope's "Ghost Breakers" (1940), its Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis remake "Scared Stiff" (1953), "Hold That Ghost" (1951) with Bud Abbott and Lou Costello, "The Ghost and Mr. Chicken" (1966) with Don Knotts, and the granddaddy, "The Old Dark House" (1932), the one most worth looking up.
Hyper-ambitious real estate agent Jim Evers (Eddie Murphy) accepts an offer to look over the isolated mansion being sold by the long-aggrieved Master Gracey (Nathaniel Parker).
Jim, who already was off for a weekend with his family, brings along wife Sara (Marsha Thomason), son Michael (Marc John Jeffries) and daughter Megan (Aree Davis).
They're greeted by the ashen, zombie-like butler Ramsley (Terence Stamp).
Before you can say, "I knew it," the Evers are holed up for the night by bad weather and an innavigable road.
The inhabitants are foolishly creepy, including servants Ezra (Wallace Shawn) and Emma (Dina Waters) and crystal ball gypsy Madame Leota (Jennifer Tilly).
It seems Sara looks like the late love of Gracey's life -- the proof is the prototypical giant portrait -- and that a curse needs to be broken. Wake us when they get to the parts we can't anticipate.
There aren't any? None?
Despite the deep Louisiana setting, no one bothers to be the least bit southern in accent or inflection.
Everyone acts in a highly italicized way that robs the movie of any oxygen.
Murphy widens his eyes as much and as often as possible for comic effect, which doesn't help much but which would be fine if Willie Best, Stepin Fetchit and other capable black actors of earlier generations had not been hung out to dry for getting laughs that way.
Murphy also wears his fixed I've-got-everything-under-control smile. But with nothing much to draw from David Berenbaum's screenplay except a gag about spiders and a folded magazine, the film feels like frayed deja vu.
Director Rob Minkoff keeps it clean. So there's ... that.
