J. Fo Versus J. Lo

Viola (Jane Fonda) and Charlie (Jennifer Lopez) face off in Monster-in-Law. Photo Melissa Moseley. Courtesy Alliance Atlantis.

As a measure of where feminism stands today, it seems perfectly fitting, and perfectly depressing, that J. Lo and J. Fo, Jennifer Lopez and Jane Fonda, would come head to head as cat fighting future relatives in the lacklustre farce Monster-in-Law. At their respective heights of fame (Fonda’s a quarter century ago; Lopez’s in 2003), both were pushers of unattainable beauty ideals and darlings of the tabloid press who led very public private lives. Fonda used the attention to make anti-war pronouncements, while Lopez has spoken out with conviction on such burning controversies as her ass and her perfume line.

These are J. Lo times — self-promotion trumps politics — and so Fonda’s return to the screen after 15 years functions as a kind of McDonald’s Happy Meal toy to boost sales of her recently released autobiography. Fonda plays Viola, a TV personality in the Barbara Walters mould recently replaced by a younger, bustier woman. Presumably determined not to let it happen again, she channels her professional compulsions into destroying her son’s relationship with his new fiancée (Lopez), a shiny, multi-tasking bohemian named Charlie (she walks dogs, temps, lights the world up with a smile, etc.).

Viola launches her campaign of pain with uncreative put-downs and emotional torment — she buys her daughter-in-law a dress that’s too small, paving the way for Lopez’s squealy, contractually required “Look at my big butt!” joke — but things soon escalate to bitch-slapping and food poisoning. But really, the tomfoolery remains quite tame, as if everyone involved is afraid to let Fonda look too crazy; crazy might make her long-awaited comeback uncomfortable, and besides, at 67, she looks fantastic so let’s linger on those legs a little longer. Bummer, because the wilder things get (and they don’t get that wild), the more fun she looks like she’s having (and she doesn’t look like she’s having that much fun).

When Fonda does shake off the script’s inherent cautiousness, it’s with broad comedic chops, as when she’s interrogating Charlie about the number of lovers she’s had and says: “That many, huh?” She punctuates the line with a big, conspiratorial wink, her mouth so wide it looks like a Smart car could park in there. Later, she wears a turban and swans around like a boozier Gloria Swanson, a glint of true cruelty in her eyes. Surely that woman would be capable of more innovative malice than feeding her nemesis kidney pie.

Dinner with the in-law: Viola (Jane Fonda), Kevin (Michael Vartan) and Charlie (Jennifer Lopez). Photo Melissa Moseley. Courtesy Alliance Atlantis.

Emotions in Monster-in-Law remain set to a low-level hum; everyone involved seems bored and unconvinced. Viola and her oblivious surgeon son (Michael Vartan) barely look at each other, squandering the comedy gold latent in the Oedipus tale. If Fonda had been allowed to let loose some evil — hell, even a little perversion — this could have gone from a mildly amusing sitcom to something deliciously wicked. As Viola’s assistant, the ever-wry Wanda Sykes raises an arched eyebrow on proceedings and debunks the beleaguered sidekick cliché, but even she can’t make mirth out of this mess.

Perhaps Monster-in-Law was doomed by casting right out of the gate: who wouldn’t root for the monster when her quarry is Lopez? Mrs. Anthony is bathed in the light of the annunciation, glowing from rock massages and crystal exfoliations. She exudes rich, and yet in her movies, she keeps insisting that she’s just a working gal from, you know, the block. This whole down-with-my-peeps routine is the funniest thing about Monster-in-Law. The multimillion-dollar industry known as Jennifer Lopez is no maid in Manhattan, nor is she a dog walker in L.A. Maybe a better actor can transcend a mammoth off-screen persona — Fonda did it in Nine to Five — but no matter how average Lopez’s latest little match girl claims to be, she comes across as someone on the cusp of cracking the skull of any minion who fails to provide her Evian at a very specific temperature.

Viola would have little patience for Lopez’s bling-bling preoccupations. During an interview for her talk show, Viola asks an Aguilera-styled pop princess if she knows what Roe vs. Wade is. “I’m not really into boxing,” says the girl (a nice line) and Viola attempts to strangle her. Charlie, then, with her self-sufficient arty lifestyle and ponchos might actually appeal to Viola, so why does Viola loathe this woman so much? The answer holds the film’s most odious assumption: because women hate each other.

Julia Roberts has built an entire oeuvre based on this lie, but it’s much more dispiriting to see Fonda agree with it. She may now claim to be just an actress looking to have some fun (that would be okay, if fun was had) but she can’t escape her legacy as an artist of conscience. Fonda, while often appearing almost pathologically nervous and tripped up by her own bad choices over the years, has also led an impressive life playing strong characters, building a fitness empire before Lopez knew the words “business plan” and advocating for youth and the environment. Things have changed in her absence, and Monster-in-Law, with its lush sets and empty values, is completely — embarrassingly — of the present. Viola, like Fonda, is a strong, powerful woman, and her reward is landing face first in a plate of tripe while Lopez cheers from the sidelines. All that time, and here’s the message: be nice, girls (a fantasy even Lopez can’t keep up off screen).

Tripe juice in her nostrils, Fonda is now just another humiliated, formerly potent aging woman in Hollywood; perhaps she took tips on lowering her expectations from Barbra Streisand, recently seen oiling up Robert De Niro in Meet the Fockers. If this is all that’s out there for actresses of Fonda’s calibre, let’s hope she vanishes for another 15 years.

Katrina Onstad writes about the arts for CBC.ca.