As Gwen, a waitress in one of Boston’s kitschier Hungarian restaurants, she blithely beds down with Newton Davis (Steve Martin), a nice-guy architect. Davis tells her of the dream house he built for the sweetheart who spurned him (Dana Delany), and how it sits unused in his quintessentially quaint New England hometown. The next morning, being a person who invents her life as she goes along, Gwen sets out to find the place. Who is the flashy vixen stocking Newt’s house with food and furniture? Uh … I’m his new wife, she says, smoothly shifting the plot into gear.
“Housesitter” is an old-fashioned movie in all the right ways: well plotted, superbly acted and confidently paced. But the director, Muppeteer Frank Oz, and screenwriter Mark Stein also include a reassuring message for aging boomers: even in your 40s, emotions can run wild. Martin at one point gets so steamed over a fabulous fib Hawn has told, he doesn’t know what to do. “You’re the Ernest Hemingway of bullshit!” he screams. No lie.
