The target of “To Die For’s” barbed wit is the American addiction to media celebrity. “What’s the point of doing anything worthwhile if it’s not on TV?” ponders Suzanne Stone (Nicole Kidman), the movie’s fiercely ambitious anti-heroine. Suzanne wants to become the next Barbara Walters; she settles, for starters, as the weathergirl on the local cable station in her hometown, Little Hope, N.H. Suzanne, however, perceives an impediment to her aspirations–her adoring but less than brilliant husband, Larry Maretto (Matt Dillon), who wants her to bear his children and help him run his restaurant. Larry will have to go. To help her dispatch her hubby, this perky femme fatale enlists the support of three grungy high-school students who’ve signed up to star in her documentary about local teenagers. She unleashes her considerable sexual powers on these hapless low-rent kids–and they’re putty in her hands.
Van Sant and Henry–taking off from a Joyce Maynard novel that was based on a real-life murder case–start their story after Suzarme’s arrest, when everyone involved in the lurid affair is available for TV interviews. Thus the movie itself begins to take the form of a deranged episode of “Hard Copy.” Everyone gets into the act: the parents of the victim and the accused rehash the tragedy on talk shows; Larry’s sister Janice (the marvelously embittered Illeana Douglas) dishes the despised Suzanne for the news crews; and the two dazed, out-of-it teens (Alison Folland and Joaquin Phoenix–River’s younger brother) who fell in love with her awkwardly submit to the media’s prying eye, eager to acquire their 15 minutes of fame. But it is Suzanne herself–putting on her best camera face to justify herself–who is the principal anchorwoman of her own story. Henry’s script gleefully lets her hang herself with every media-savvy, self-improvement cliche in her arsenal.
Those who know Kidman only from her one-dimensional roles in “Far and Away” and “Batman Forever” are in for a treat: she’s a smashing comedienne. The movie wouldn’t work if Kidman overplayed her hand, condescending to the role. But she invests Suzanne with a deliciously self-deluded conviction, a cheerleader’s witchy mixture of genuine naivete, calculated sexuality and lethal cunning. She’s a hoot.
It’s a surprising movie from Van Sant too. Gone is the wiggy lyricism of “Drugstore Cowboy” and “My Own Private Idaho,” replaced by a remarkably disciplined black-comic edge. The imprint of Henry’s sardonic intelligence is obvious, but you can feel Van Sant’s touch most strongly in the spooky pathos of Phoenix’s odd and affecting performance (he’s literally blurry with lust) and newcomer Folland’s poignant portrayal of the abused Lydia. By the end, you realize the movie has slyly anatomized the class resentments of an entire community. In another director’s hands, “To Die For’s” satirical venom could have turned sour and obvious. Propelled by a steady stream of subtle jokes, Van Sant, Henry and their excellent company have conjured up a smart and wicked delight.
