Opens September 15, 2000

At Karaoke bars anyone can stand up and belt away for three minutes and, if they're good enough, become instant stars. Somewhat fittingly, this movie about karaoke singers seems to be itself some sort of karaoke film, as if some people from the parking lot just stood up for two hours and decided to declare their efforts a movie. Starring Gwyneth Paltrow as one member of three mismatched pairs of amateur singers who converge on Omaha for a big karaoke contest - $5,000 American dollars to the winner - it is, as if, someone had decided to cram together Nashville with the Karate Kid. In short, Duets is so absurdly awful that you feel like you're watching some sort of Saturday Night Live satire of something called The Karaoke Kids.

In its early stages, as we're introduced to three pairs of people and their troubled lives, Duets is so narratively off-key that it truly seems like a number of scenes from entirely different movies have been spliced together. A hodgepodge of not only story threads, but a smear of uncertain themes, the movie is, most of all, atonal. It warbles haphazardly through the three convergent threads, as the three pairs of characters near Omaha.

In the first story strain (and we use the word "strain" with double meaning), a wandering hustler (Huey Lewis) and his long-neglected daughter (Gwyneth Paltrow) team up for the big karaoke contest after a lifetime apart. Pop is a lonesome loner who likes it that way. What he did before the great invention of karaoke leaves one only to surmise a series of Ramada Inn performances, but his newfound daughter adores him, bouncing into his life with gape-mouthed wonderment. As played by Gwyneth Paltrow, with a girlie goo-goo eye manner, we're soon tapping our toes to hope that the old man ditches her at the next rest stop. Paltrow's performance is, well, highlighted by her singing, which says it all. As a simple-minded girl who takes a cotton to kinfolk, she strikes only false notes. "Git thee back to a period piece, damsel." On the other hand, Lewis' singing, including a nicely raw Joe Cocker turn, does strike a certain note. Unfortunately, it's just Huey one note when it comes to acting. Throughout the entire movie he seems to be playing Tommy Lee Jones: With his gaze averted, his vocal cadence clipped and flat, and his movements creepily crisp, Lewis could be a bargain-basement find for any producer needing a Tommy Lee for his typical role as a houndog who gives chase.

The second story strain is utterly disharmonious, as a suburbanite salesman (Paul Giamatti) flakes out, spinning down into some sort of major mental breakdown. Complaining about the worthlessness of his life and ranting about the plastic nature of our society, the character is not so much flesh and blood as a spokesperson for mid-life crisis. Amazingly, he's accompanied by a black, ex-con (Andre Braugher) who totes a gun and counsels him to get some sleep. Braugher, as ever, plays a smart and tightly contained guy, but the former Homicide star shows that he's got more than acting chops with a gospel turn of Free Bird.

Sleep, indeed, is the proper prescription for following the third duo, made up of a cabby (Scott Speedman), who's been jilted by his girlfriend, and a snarly/sultry woman (Maria Bello) who uses her body as a credit car. There's not much more to say about the characters, such is their lack of depth.

Overall, all three pairings are so synthetic and forced that it feels as if screenwriter John Byrum has merely pulled their names out of a hat and put them on the road together in a Survivor-like jam job. Since they squabble and bicker throughout their respective treks, Duets might be more properly titled Disharmonies.

Overall, Duets is a discordant annoyance. Under director Bruce Paltrow's baton it's akin to having each member of a band play a different song all at once. To save some finger motion, the word "paltry" pretty much fits with Paltrow's directorial style, such as it doesn't seem to exist here.

By the time they all get to Omaha, you'll be snoozing.