Six Days Seven Nights (review)

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Chemistry Test

Hah! You thought I was going to discuss whether Anne Heche, world-renowned lesbian, can possibly convince the world she’s hot for sensitive macho man Harrison Ford. Well, she can — she and Ford send some nice sparks flying in Six Days Seven Nights. The problem is, the movie won’t let those sparks ignite.

Just about every cliché in the book is to be found in Six Days. Robin Monroe (Heche) is the sophisticated, wise-cracking, big-city magazine editor. (Anyone who thinks this is a glamorous job has never been a magazine editor — but hey, this is a fantasy, right?) She comes to a Pacific paradise with her boring boyfriend (David Schwimmer), whom you just know is from — *yawn* — the Upper East Side. On Tahiti they meet Quinn Harris (Ford), your stock hard-drinking, smart-ass beach bum/pilot.
Situations too contrived to even go into put Robin and Quinn on his little plane, alone. Sing with me: “The weather started getting rough, the tiny plane was tossed…” They crash, natch, on a gorgeous little deserted island, with little hope of rescue. And of course, these two, who couldn’t stand each other five minutes ago, start thawing in the tropical sun as they go about their MacGyverish plans for saving themselves.

And that’s it. Six Days never lets Robin and Quinn do much more than steal glances at each other. I mean, duh: Harrison Ford in grease-covered overalls — which is how we first meet him here — is way more yummy than dopey David Schwimmer. Yet Robin refrains from indulging in any hanky-panky with Quinn because of the boring boyfriend — who, by the way, is getting up to his own sitcomish shenanigans while she’s missing. So he gets to have fun while Robin and Quinn — whom, let’s be honest, we paid good money to see get it on — don’t.

Normally I’d pay cash money to see Harrison Ford read from the federal tax code (his presence here even trumped my ban against movies featuring anyone from Friends), but Six Days Seven Nights is kinda, well, dull. As Robin and Quinn were wacking and hacking their way around on their little island, I thought: What this movie needs is a Tyrannosaur attack. If we can’t have sex, give us some action.

But there’s precious little action of any kind here. *sigh* It’s too depressingly like real life.

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