Naturally the kid can't believe his luck, though he seems surprisingly ungrateful by the story's end. This lack of an engaging, red-blooded protagonist is a big problem. Bridges is engaging as a minor artist whose personality is as bristly as his whiskers, and Basinger is adequate as his damaged wife. But they are second fiddle to Foster, who is given another bland Irving type, in "The Cider House Rules" vein, to play. Eddie is subsequently a mushy individual whose every step squishes with diffidence, the last person you'd want to follow around a deserted estate for two hours.
Aside from the Oedipal eye candy on display (hot moms include not only Basinger, but the well-endowed Mimi Rogers), the proceedings don't really proceed all that much until they slam predictably into a heavy-handed conclusion. Even if you figure out what's under the door in the floor, you might not find it all that interesting. Wayne Melton
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