Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde Review

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In New York in 1995 Dr. Richard Jacks is a creator of perfumes. Thus he spends his days inventing new colorful and well smelling potions and certainly caring for his girlfriend Sarah Carver. But when he discovers that his great-grandfather, called Dr. Jekyll, was a scientist with revolutionary discoveries, he tries to follow the footsteps of his ancestor and creates more and more delicate potions until one of them converts him into a spectacular superwoman: Helen Hyde. Knowing that Richard has n


As the opening credits role on this woeful concoction you might just discern a strained creaking noise. It’s not the seat, nor even the plank-like acting, but the sound of Robert Louis Stevenson shifting in the grave as his classic horror story gets mauled in the name of comedy.
Bequeathed a bunch of medical journals in his great grandfather’s will, Dr. Richard Jacks (Daly) marries Victorian theory with 90s’ technology — a computerised DNA sequencer — and employs the overblown chemistry set in his perfume lab to knock up a test tube of dubiously coloured liquid. Naturally, he downs it in one.
Thereafter, and usually at the most inopportune moment, Jack finds himself sprouting nails, hair, and in dire need of a garment by Otto Titzling as he transforms into alter ego Helen Hyde (Young). And as Helen attempts to take complete control of their body, Jack winds up in increasingly compromised positions.
Gender-bending and transvestism have been a comedy faithful in Tinseltown since Curtis and Lemmon first smudged lipstick, but there’s surely a limit to how many times a bloke in a dress is funny. Daly suffers in vain for his art, fighting a futile battle against sluggish directing and a lacklustre script, and Young is just charmless. Even the impressive metamorphosis special effects and the best efforts of Harvey Fierstein and Stephen Tobolowsky — as the gay perfume company head and Jack’s nerdy boss — fail to stave off the tedium.
If you must see Stevenson’s schizophrenic masterpiece run by way a cross dressing giggle then opt for 1972’s Dr. Jekyll And Sister Hyde, when Ralph Bates and Martine Beswick had a lot more fun. As will you.

This isn't bad…it's worse.