Frankie (Michelle Pfeiffer) is a lonely waitress living alone in New York City. Her source of comfort comes from a new VCR and old romantic movies. Johnny (Al Pacino) is a nice guy who just happened to get caught doing a bad thing. Fresh from jail for forgery, he’s ready to get back into the world and prove he’s a changed man. Johnny lands a job as a cook at the diner where Frankie works. So, there you have it – two near-opposites in a big world, brought together because together they share the name of an old song.
Pacino and Pfeiffer lack the chemistry and onscreen ease required to make a character-driven romantic comedy such as this work. We’re meant to feel for them through their conversations and subtle interactions. The conversations come, but never go beyond the surface. Getting into a deep conversation is Frankie’s major fear. Determined not to relive her damaged past, she refuses to open up. It’s not like Frankie is completely alone in the world. She’s surrounded by friends, all of her co-workers come to her for help, and the film begins with Frankie being anointed as a baby’s godmother. But when things start to shift toward meaningful conversation, her feelings tighten up.
Johnny is desperately looking for someone to love. He was alone during his jail time. His first night out Johnny pays a prostitute to innocently spoon him as he drifts off to sleep. Johnny sees Frankie as a work of fate. After he gets it in his mind that they’re meant to be together, he spreads his feathers like a peacock and turns up the charm. His idea of destiny is a scary thing. In the real world, he’d be considered a stalker for pursuing Frankie this way. But in director Gary Marshall’s (Pretty Woman, Runaway Bride) superficial world, it’s pure Hollywood romance.
However, instead of my heart fluttering, this film set it to sputtering. More awkward than romantic, Frankie and Johnny’s road to love must have happened somewhere off-screen because I we never see it. Perhaps it was in their pheromones, their unique scent – the one sense that film still has trouble capturing – that ultimately drew them together. But I doubt it. That would be acknowledging that Frankie and Johnny actually has some depth.
The supporting cast is composed of stereotypes and ethnic clichés. There’s the witty homosexual neighbour played by Nathan Lane, the lazy Latino lover-boy who refuses to stop talking on the phone, the sexually experienced chain-smoking waitress and the old lady with a fetish for paying with exact change, even if it does take a half-hour to count out.
It’s difficult to see past the shallow level this film puts forth. In his follow-up to Pretty Woman, Marshall doesn’t come close to the spark that he was able to capture with the pairing of Julia Roberts and Richard Gere. While they may be a couple of equally pretty movie star faces, Pacino and Pfeiffer never come across as compatible. The song the film is named after tells a tale of infidelity and tragedy. While I doubt the continuing story behind Marshall’s Frankie and Johnny would go down such a path, it sure would have made things a heck of a lot more interesting if it did.
