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As a first-time co-writer/director, Helen Hunt carries a strength untouched even by many filmmakers with 20- or 30-year histories in the business: the ability to swiftly navigate her actors through emotionally complex sequences, layered with the behavioral contradictions and uncertainties of real life. Consequently, numerous sequences in Hunt's feature debut, Then She Found Me, flower with a level of ingenuousness that feels astonishingly fresh and open. To put it bluntly, Hunt is an actor's director. That approach to the craft of filmmaking not only saves about 80 percent of the film, but frequently lifts it into the realm of the sublime.



Then She Found Me tells the story of April Epner (Hunt), a single Philadelphia-area schoolteacher who was adopted into a Jewish family during infancy. As the picture opens, April marries, and is then promptly jilted by, new husband Ben (Matthew Broderick); she must also contend with the death of her adoptive mother (Lynn Cohen), the sudden appearance of her long-estranged biological mother, Bernice Graves (Bette Midler), and a whirlwind romance with Frank (Colin Firth), the recently divorced dad of two kids from her school.



From a filmmaking standpoint, Hunt projects the instincts of a stage director. (This isn't an entirely surprising revelation given her acclaimed involvement in Broadway productions such as the 1998 Lincoln Center revival of +Twelfth Night.) In Then She Found Me, the tendency is evident via her liberal use -- particularly near the outset of the film -- of scene-long master shots that focus the director's and viewers' attention solely on the dramatic work and enable us to glimpse key blocking that would be glossed over in close-up. Just witness the wonderful breakup sequence between Ben and April that represents the drama's first major turning point. Hunt takes a scene that could easily have lapsed into contrived melodrama and retains an exclusive focus on the subtle body language of April's pas de deux with Ben, keeping everything in full shot. In terms of their simple physical relationship to one another, the actors lace that sequence with so many ambiguities between the characters that it comes across as breathtakingly original and wholly credible. Because of the way the scene is filmed, in fact, the movie resounds with truth even as the couple lapses into a series of actions that appear to contradict everything that has just transpired; simply from the actors' posturings, we witness a deep-seated level of confusion that accounts for everything else. That stylistic choice alone demonstrates Hunt's directorial maturity, rooted in a supreme confidence in her script, herself as an actress, and her co-stars -- plus a surefire instinct about how to approach the material most effectively. The breakup scene also embodies one of the most vital in the production, because it gives us our first indication of April's most endearing qualities and demonstrates that Hunt's script (which she co-authored with scribes Alice Arlen and Victor Levin) has its finger on the audience's pulse in terms of tone. All we need witness is a single, simple action from April (how many other newlywed wives, merely a few days after their wedding, would respond to a breakup request from their husbands by extending a Kleenex in sympathy?) that makes us feel inclined to empathize with the character, naturally observing and following everything from her point-of-view. That represents the right choice, as it gels perfectly with the perspective and footing of the screenplay -- a screenplay that will dramatize April's arc.



On that note, the film indicates April's trajectory from its opening minutes. In the first scene, Hunt recites an age-old Jewish parable about the raw shock that hits when we realize that virtually anyone -- even those who love us dearly and would sacrifice anything for us -- will cruelly let us down in one way or another. That idea represents a kind of foundational thesis for the film, and indeed, the story follows April over a period that brings her to sobering realizations about the potential cruelty of friends, lovers, and relatives. Therein lies the central character shift. On that basis, the film doesn't really score any points for profundity, but its execution of April's gradual disillusionment is a beautiful one.



The picture also sports a winning cast, with stellar work from Broderick (ushering in the whiny, spineless, insensitive type he played in You Can Count on Me) and the always-welcome Firth, whose exchanges with Hunt help the film chart soul-mate territory more heart-rendingly (and with greater credibility and depth) than virtually any Hollywood feature of the past several years; the two actors tug at one's heartstrings. Hunt, Levin and Arlen make an intuitive and brilliant choice (and avoid the Unmarried Woman pitfall of implausible perfection in one character) by giving Firth's character an arresting sequence that enables Frank to profanely vent all of his hostilities, insecurities, and inner rage to April. That scene imparts the character with much-needed dimension by unveiling Frank's flaws; it also puts the couple's relationship through one of two major litmus tests needed to prove its strength.



The movie does fall below the bar of perfection, though not in any seriously damning way. As a director, Hunt seems ill-equipped to handle the jovial moments, lines, and scenes that frequently crop up in the film (imparted to no small degree, one guesses, by Arlen's contributions). As Bernice -- a feisty and loud-mouthed, liberal daytime talk-show host who appears to be modeled on Joy Behar -- Midler is apparently supposed to lighten the mood by imparting an element of slightly crass, edgy humor to the story, but for her first three or four appearances, she cuts severely against the grain of the material. One could argue, of course, that this merely represents the character, and to some degree that's true, but Midler takes it too far -- she seems to be playing the material at the wrong speed and stops the film dead in its tracks whenever she pops up. Conceptually speaking, it reminds one of Richard Dreyfuss's performance in Lasse Hallström's brilliant Once Around -- a deliberately grating characterization that grows more palatable over the course of the movie -- but whereas Dreyfuss exists in the same movie as his co-stars from the very first scene, Midler seems to be in a different film altogether. The movie improves dramatically when the character of Bernice eases up and relaxes a little bit. Her wisecracks and witticisms continue throughout even as they soften, and many (if considered independently of the material) are truly hilarious. Yet, unfortunately, Hunt never sets up the jokes in such a way that they deliver much of an impact. (One has to strain to catch everything.) Instead, Hunt, as a director, becomes wholly enmeshed in the dramatic crescendos and decrescendos of the material at the expense of its intrinsic humor. The same applies to the film's few sequences that are basically funny. For example, a bit that has April studying Steve McQueen films to determine if McQueen is her biological father doesn't deliver at all, when it should earn a belly laugh or at least a few chuckles from the audience, and lighten the sobriety of the narrative to boot.



Fortunately, in terms of everything positive offered by the film, those lapses feel fairly minor in the final analysis. The only other significant flaw lies in the concluding act. In depicting April's decision about pregnancy (artificial insemination vs. adoption vs. possible impregnation by Frank), the story completely loses coherence. Though one could ostensibly put the pieces together and determine what has happened, the film's final shot still feels much too ambiguous given everything that has preceded it, and demands additional clarification. Overall, Then She Found Me represents a pleasant surprise and speaks volumes about Hunt's directorial intuition. Nathan Southern, All Movie Guide

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