Hush

Jessica Lange's starring role as a psycho in Jonathan Darby's thriller reminds us once again of the dearth of meaty film parts for women over age 35. As always, it's a painful reminder.

Lange affects a honey-dripping drawl as she clomps about a Southern horse farm in beige pumps, chainsmoking and belting back Scotches. Her son (Johnathon Schaech) has married a lovely palomino of a girl (Gwyneth Paltrow) who wants to herd him back to the city. However, this mama will do anything -- anything! -- to keep her boy down on the farm.

The film warps the nerve-fraying experience of meeting the in-laws into a predictable Mommie Dearest nightmare. Given all the smothering mothering, the incestuous undertones are worth a snicker; the finest scene has Lange rinsing off a shirtless, mud-covered Schaech with a phallic hose. Schaech and Paltrow make a pretty pair, but this silly show is all Lange's. Whether leering from the shadows or forcing a mania-tinged laugh, she twists into her best Anthony Perkins. Indeed, Hush never whispers; it's heavy-handed, witless, and, when Lange's fate is considered, rather sad. At the Copley Place, the Fresh Pond, and the Chestnut Hill and in the suburbs.

-- Peter Keough