There’s so much affection onscreen between the Douglas clan – father Kirk, mother and ex-wife Diana, son Michael, grandson Cameron – that it’s too bad that this New York family dramedy isn’t a better movie. Director Schepisi is really banking on the chemistry between his stars to carry the film, which is underwritten (by Jesse Wigutow) and unevenly paced. Until it pulls together in the third act, Family is a workmanlike collection of predictably heartwarming situations. The kindly grandmother (Diana Douglas) puzzles over her e-mail, the goofy collegiate slacker (Cameron Douglas) woos an uptight classmate, attorney Alex (Michael Douglas) works too hard, and crusty old Mitchell (Kirk Douglas) goes off about fakakta this and fakakta that and orders “the usual” at his neighborhood bistro. There’s the obligatory tri-generational fishing sequence and various platitudinous observations (“Life is always getting in the way of us, isn’t it?”). Schepisi underscores each emotional note by pulling the camera away from his actors and pointing it at family photographs, a saccharine conceit that becomes more irritating each time it appears. On the comic tip, a wacky legless uncle farts during Seder, yammers nonsensically, and weeps spontaneously; disingenuously, the movie treats him like a schlemiel while the script talks up his war heroism. The good news is that Kirk Douglas is still a truculent old coot, even after his 1995 stroke. It’s easy to like him as his character strides unapologetically in the middle of a jogging path peopled with young hardbodies and dispenses unwanted sex advice to his grandson. The world would like to push him aside – he’s decrepit and inconvenient and says whatever’s on his mind – but he won’t allow it. It’s easy to praise Douglas for acting in spite of his physical limitations, but that’s beside the point. He’s affecting and sympathetic because he fully invests his performance with piss and vinegar, even when the filmmakers seem to want to chuck him under the chin. Culkin, the youngest member of that other thespian brood, is also a nice surprise as the younger grandson, a dour sixth-grader who dresses like a stockbroker, studies karate, and has a sort of wan-faced, vaguely menacing mien. The other characters try to pin down what’s wrong with him and finally just label him “weird.” Don’t ask me quite how, but the kid is able to walk away with the movie, possibly because he and the eldest Douglas seem willing to stick their necks out a little while everyone else is phoning it in. Their presence adds a little flavor to what would otherwise be a mediocre, formulaic family affair.
This article appears in April 25 • 2003.