Domestic Disturbance
dir. Harold Becker
Paramount Pictures

Huh?

Domestic what? Disturbance? What's that? A movie? No way. What was the premise? Who were the characters? What was the emotional texture? I'm not sure what you're — wait, wait, wait. Domestic Disturbance. There may have been a ticket stub in my pocket this morning with that on it.

Yeah, OK, it's slowly coming back. Domestic Disturbance is the one about Danny (Matthew O'Leary), a 12-year-old who witnesses his new stepfather Rick (Vince Vaughn) murder somebody. Danny tells the authorities, but no one believes him except his father, Frank (John Travolta). Superdad becomes a sleuth and collects the dirt on killer papa while the vulnerable son cowers under the roof of his clueless mother (Teri Polo) and her homicidal hubby.

Domestic Disturbance is forgettable because it forgets to give the audience any reason to invest in its protagonists, heroes or victims. The kid is a feckless, whiny jerk. He lies, steals cars, runs off in the middle of the night and sasses his elders; he could use a swift kick in the rear. One even wonders if a strong, reliable, murderous, male influence might not be just what the boy needs.

The good father is so preposterously, ho-hum pleasant it's irritating. His son plays him like a fiddle, using him as an excuse and emotionally blackmailing him into submission. He is not a parent but a doormat, further demonstrated by the sugary weakness he shows in his other relationships. His ex-wife uses him for her own agenda and his customers take advantage of him with a smile. He's a chump.

Then there is deadly dad. At first, he is highly memorable: charming, unbalanced, successful, unrepentant, cool and malicious. He calmly plays catch with his stepson in the yard until the boy makes a lousy throw, forcing the stepfather to lunge in vain for the baseball. Suddenly, the grown man is belittling the boy. He tosses searing fastballs into the kid's tender mitt. He grows dangerous. Who wouldn't want to watch him?

In short order, however, the villain is de-fanged and dumbed down to make way for a tidy conclusion. The stepfather loses the edge and intellect that made him intriguing. Stripped of his best qualities, he becomes like all the movie's other banal paper dolls.

Mea culpa; the movie is fading again. Its unremarkable cinematography, tedious pacing and gaping plot holes are evaporating like dew under hot beams of logic. Even the film's sour aftertaste dissipates. In six months, no one will remember Domestic Occurrence, which is the silver lining for Vaughn and … uh, that tall actor who always dances.

So don't rush to the theaters. Don't save loose change in order to buy the DVD. Forget about renting Domestic Detachment on video or waiting for its premiere on cable. Just tell yourself that you have already seen it; no one will ever know the difference.

— Rasheed Newson (rasheednewson@hotmail.com)