Based on the Pulitzer-prize winning book by Jane Smiley, this film took a long circuitous route to the screen, having been stuck in development for the better part of three years. Just before its release, director Jocelyn Moorhouse was forcibly excluded from the final editing process - there was even talk that the film would be credited to "Alan Smithee" (about to have his own film, but also stuck in development hell). In the face of all these problems, it is not surprising that A Thousand Acres somehow fails to match up to its promise. Critics say it should "win a thousand Oscars", that the actors give "Oscar-calibre performances", and that the film is "the best drama of the year" - sadly, only one of the comments prove to be true.

Taking its genus from the Shakespearean classic "King Lear", the film tells the story of proud old Mr Cook (Jason Robards, all smarmy and hateful), a revered member of the farming community he rules over in Iowa, owner of a thousand acres of black rich land, who decides to retire and hand over his property to his three daughters, Ginny (Jessica Lange in toned-down distressed southern belle mode), Rose (Michelle Pfeiffer in mad-as-hell angry bitch mode) and Caroline (Jennifer Jason Leigh in perpetual frown mode). Caroline, being daddy's favourite, realises that her father, control-freak that he is, would never be happy doing nothing, and expresses her reservations at his decision, immediately prompting the old man to dis-inherit her, leaving Ginny and Rose and their husbands (Keith Carradine and Kevin Anderson, in roles so underwritten and barely played that they did not register enough of a screen presence for me to remember their character's names) to manage the land. It is not long before Mr Cook is sent out into a thunderstorm whilst his daughters fume at past secrets and horrors. Also, sisterly rivalry charges ahead in various directions. The return of an old neighbour (played by a slimmed-down Colin Firth, managing a nice accent but not really registering a screen presence either) pits the elder two girls against each other for his affections, Caroline gets back into daddy's good books sufficiently to convince him to sue for the return of his land, and the sisters don't seem to talk to each other very much at all as various plot contrivances show the farm unravelling as tensions escalate and emotions fray. Along with this central device of a family coming apart, we are also treated to a whole plethora of "women's issues" - enough to make a whole year's worth of episodes on Oprah. Rose suffers from breast cancer, Ginny and Rose were both sexually assaulted by their daddy, Ginny's had five miscarriages from drinking poisonous well water, Alzheimer's rears its ugly head, so on and so forth. By the time the movie ends, audiences will find themselves emotionally drained and yet, strangely, hollow and dis-satisfied.

The main problem with the film lies in the direction and editing. Things the way they are, it is hard to say who is at fault here. Director Moorhouse's last film, "How to Make an American Quilt" also suffered from this odd sense of dis-jointed-ness. Whereas that film had an episodic structure that made its abrupt changes easier to stomach, "A Thousand Acres" is so poorly spliced together (especially in the last forty-five minutes) that you can't help but think that the scenes shown on-screen actually go on for much longer than they were allowed to in the final cut. There is no closure in the way the final minutes of the film plays.

Moorhouse does manage to elicit a handful of marvellous performances (okay, okay, just two, but what calibre these two are!). She also manages to drown out most of the cast. Jason Robards, always dependable as the crusty old salt you love to hate, is given so little to do except to glower and cast resentful looks whilst ranting in the rain that you wish he'd keel over and die already for being such an irritant on-screen. The rest of the male cast fare just as badly. This may have something to do with the fact that they don't so much play characters as they do caricatures. Colin Firth is a prodigal son who wantonly seduces two sisters and eventually leaves them high and dry - personally, why he is considered desirable to begin with escapes me. The fact that Lange and Pfeiffer would fall for the likes of him is very hard to believe. Keith Carradine plays Ginny's ineffectual, somewhat idealistic and duplicitous (don't ask me how the script managed to contrive this fundamental character dichotomy, it just did) husband in such a low-key fashion that Lange often looks like she's talking to herself in their scenes together. Kevin Anderson is saddled with the worse-written role of all; first, he seems like a sensitive husband/father, then he's a cad, then an alcoholic etc etc. When he finally drives off into a ditch and drowns, we don't care!

The most surprising sub-standard performer here is Jennifer Jason Leigh. Routinely obnoxious and difficult to watch on-screen, Leigh here follows in the footsteps of the male members of the cast and fades into the background. I'm sorry, but has anyone not noticed that for all the praise heaped on her, she's got all of two facial expressions: pissed and more pissed (sort of like the female Richard Gere)? Anyway, I am happy to report that Ms Leigh's role lands up on the cutting room floor for the most part. Early on in the film, her character even gets married, but we never see the groom/husband, and she appears single for all intents and purposes throughout the course of the film - just another example of the weird wonderful script.

The film's only saving grace come in the form of the twin lead performances of Lange and Pfeiffer, who also co-produced the film (and maybe should be blamed for the putrid final cut?). Since her debut in "King Kong", Lange's had an irritating habit of drawling her lines and arranging her hands in an affected manner around her as she acts. More than once, I've found myself wanting to reach onto the screen and slap her hands away. Also, audiences familiar with her work can see the exact moment when she starts that slow/sultry/scary smile of hers coming and know what the film is going to be like from thereon. The good news is that she manages to reign in her tendencies, and presents the audience with a believable portrait of a wilful simpleton who's too afraid of her daddy to free herself from the farm which has enslaved her. This is possibly her most honest emotive work for a long time, far better than her self-parodying turn in "Blue Sky" (which copped her an Oscar in a particularly lean year), and she plays beautifully against Michelle Pfeiffer, who plays a no-nonsense bitch with a penchant for short country dresses, bouts of spiteful anger and whose eyes are (inexplicably) heavily lined with black kohl. This is the most unsympathetic character she's agreed to play, and she obviously relishes the chance to be loud, hateful and embittered for the entire duration of the film. Pfeiffer's work here is showy and loud, and she balances Rose's bitterness and broken-spirit with expert ease, making you admire, rather than detest, the angry woman who remains unrepentant and strong-willed to the very end. The only reason you would see a film so poorly executed as to make you frustrated at how much better it could have been in the right hands, is to see the quality of Lange and Pfeiffer's tours de force; the complex, messy relationship between the two siblings is so perfectly explored and displayed that one is almost tempted to overlook the travesty Moorhouse (or some evil editor) has reduced a great book into. Just almost.

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