MOVIES

from page 96

for children). As a thriller, it's no toad,
but even Judd's magic kiss can't work
miracles. Rated R.
*#

— Reviewed by James Hebert

•Expires 12-31-97
*One Per Person

DELIVERY
AVA I LAB L E

• Not Good Holidays
• 10 Person Minimum

-*V

THE MATCHMAKER
Much of the fun of The
Matchmaker is hearing Janeane
Garofalo's voice mow down a sham-
rock field of Irish accents.
With its forklift force that could
peel the skin off a tank, Garofalo's tone
(clarion nasal) is some sound in the
Old Sod. This prompts a villager, eyes
a-twinkle, voice dripping with Joycean
bonhomie, to compliment her "lovely
speaking voice."
Garofalo, all brown eyes and sun-
shine smile, her pillowy body firmly
braced by intelligence, is no meager
gift to movies. It's rare for a TV talent
to move to the more lavish screen
without seeming smaller. The
Matchmaker gets a lot from her.
Directed by Mark Joffe, whose Cosi
previewed but did not open here, The
Matchmaker is
mostly set in a
charming coastal
town of Eire famed
for a festival where
matchmakers unite
hopeful and reput-
ed virgins with
young men, for
marriage. Though
fueled by pub
crawling, it's no
dating service —
the Catholic
Church hovers, and
photos of the pope
gaze sternly on the Miles O'Shea and Janeane Garofalo star in The Matchmaker.
proceedings.
To the town comes Marcy, cam-
Kennedy as the innkeeper, absolutely
paign operator looking for the Gaelic
gorgeous Saffron Burrows as a local
roots of U.S. Sen. John McGlory (Jay
Kennedy, and buoyantly rumpled, ale-
0. Sanders), a smiling, footballish
lubed
David O'Hara as a journalist
dolt. His slogan is "Hey Ho
Let's
retired
to bartending. He, of course,
Go!," and he is given to impulse
develops
a vivid need for Marcy, melt-
remarks like, "Look, I'm on TV."
ing
her
from
brisk, careerist remarks
McGlory fancies that flaunting his
like
"I
long
to
fax someone."
ancestry will rescue his dubious re-elec-
This film tries to do for an Irish
tion. It's not clear how he got elected
setting what Local Hero did for a
in the first place, even in
Scottish town, and it lacks that supple
Massachusetts (they may like Irish
arc
of wit and impishness. It's a pleas-
pols, but they're not notably stupid).
ant
jumble
of episodes, light on story,
Nor is it clear why Marcy toils for him
but
the
appeal
of the people and the
and his campaign manager (Denis
collective
warmth
(plus singing, and a
Leary), an acid pill of routine cyni-
funny dog) make it as satisfying a
cism.
quick visit to Ireland as you can get
Perhaps not since the Republican in
now without air tickets. Rated R.
John Ford's 1958 broth pot of Boston
* *
politics, The Last Hurrah, has there
been a candidate so doofy. Sanders' big
— Reviewed by David Elliott

—

40 WEST PIKE 5T. a DOWNTOWN PONT1 •

noggin beams like a lighthouse as he
says, "If we play our cards right, I'm
gonna end up like Kennedy ...
Marcy moves into the tiniest crib
room of a hotel during festival time,
and strives to find McGlory nuggets in
the local soil. That allows the story to
conduct a display of Irishness rivaling
Ford's The Quiet Man. Not half so
much style this time, but emerald
sights, and horses and singing contests,
plus pub brawls and village quirkballs
(one, famished for sex, tries to kill
himself in a tanning salon, "burning
like Joan of Arc").
The very veteran Milo O'Shea, his
arched eyebrows the best since union
leader John L. Lewis died and left his
brow crop to the West Virginia Coal
Museum and Facial Hair
Conservatory, plays the most cherubic
of the matchmakers. This would have
been the Barry Fitzgerald role, had
Ford filmed, and O'Shea lays it on
thick. He also has one of the most
poignant film exits of the year.
There's beauteous Maria Doyle