ennifer Love Hewitt has said in recent interviews that with her performance as Page, a gorgeous and seductive con artist in the film Heartbreakers, she was hoping to distance herself from the "girl next door" persona that America has come to expect from her. Can someone say "mission accomplished?"
Ms. Hewitt, perhaps best known as the sweet and lovable Sarah from the Fox television show Party of Five, co-stars in this debacle with critical laureates Sigourney Weaver, Ray Liotta, Gene Hackman, Jason Lee and, in strong supporting performances, her breasts. Taking a cue from Julia Roberts' flesh-baring (and now Academy Award-winning) turn as Erin Brockovich, J-Love employs her formidable decolletage to con Liotta, Hackman and Lee (in that order) out of their millions-all under the supervision of her co-conspirator and mother, Max (Weaver). The routine is the same for every victim: Over the course of three months, Max persuades a wealthy man to marry her. Then, the day after the wedding, Page successfully seduces her new stepdad, and Max walks in on her daughter and soon-to-be-ex-husband in the throes of passion. Quick divorce, substantial settlement, Max and Page take the money and run.
The film opens with the bombshells successfully entrapping Liotta, a chop-shop expert from New Jersey. Soon, though, the IRS confiscates their ill-earned funds, and the mother-daughter team (their gossamer relationship is a major theme of the film) goes to Palm Beach for one last con. Weaver tries her hand at Hackman's tobacco baron, while Hewitt aims at Lee's bar owner. Can you guess who's not able to pull off the con and who ends up with whom?
What makes this film just plain awful is not its predictability, but how completely unfunny it is. The jokes, which are either crude references to the leading ladies' bodies or meager attempts at slapstick physical comedy, fall so flat it's almost painful to watch. In fact, I wish I could have been a fly on the wall at early test screenings for Heartbreakers, so that I could have seen the producers cringe in utter horror as the audience laughed maybe seven times during the 123 minutes-yes, over two hours-of what is clearly supposed to be a comedy. Of course, perhaps they realized during the shoot that the only draw of this film would be Ms. Hewitt's revealing wardrobe; but by the end credits, we begin to wish the filmmakers focused a little more on the chuckles than on the curves.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.