The key to realizing what a pathetic director Richard Benjamin is lies in a scene about midway through this film. Bill Winterbourne (Brendan Fraser) is sitting on his bed with a note in front of him which confirms his suspicion that the woman claiming to be his dead brother's wife is really a low-class nobody named Connie Doyle (Ricki Lake). Notice the lighting -- it looks like a scene from a 1940's film noir after the femme fatale shoots her lover and is contemplating how to get away with it. In terms of being ridiculous, such shots are analogous to Benjamin getting caught wearing his wife's panties -- they may look pretty, but they obviously don't fit.
Benjamin also has a thing for basking Ricki Lake is soft light. After a while, you'll swear you're attending a seance and not a movie. Undoubtedly, people will say Ricki Lake is refreshing since she's not the stereotypical supermodel-type. Frankly, she's about as refreshing as swallowing a tack and sitting through this movie is about as invigorating as watching "While you Were Sleeping" a second time.
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