A neck massage masquerading as a deep psychic probe of present-day America. Little daily "miracles" twinkle in the advancing tide of gloom and malaise: an interracial friendship blossoms between an affluent white lawyer and the black tow-truck driver who comes to his aid; a jogger finds an abandoned baby in the bushes (Biblical overtones) and moves toward official adoption; a blind date brings true love; and a series of small foreshadowings, starting with the not so small one of the title itself, culminates in a collective spiritual experience unrivalled since the Close Encounters reception committee convened at Devils Tower. It's a decent, concerned, right-thinking movie about decent, concerned, right-thinking people; and plenty of other decent, etc., people are apt to respond to it strongly. Nothing wrong with that, as long as what they're responding to isn't blackmail. Lawrence Kasdan, the director and (together with his wife Meg) co-writer, sets up a flattering comparison to himself with the figure of a gore-mongering Hollywood producer (a broad satiric target, broadened still further by the casting of Steve Martin). This makes a spurious comparison. People who see movies as a choice in kinds are simply not looking very closely. And even in the unlikely event that virtuousness turned out after all to be an artistic value, self-flattery and self-congratulation would surely subtract from it. Kevin Kline, Mary McDonnell, Danny Glover, Mary-Louise Parker. (1991) — Duncan Shepherd
This movie is not currently in theaters.