Household Saints

You can always tell a good Italian-American neighborhood joint by the two oil paintings hanging over the bar: one is of the Pope; the other is of Frank Sinatra. This vision of life, split between the Catholic church and life according to Frankie, is one of the underlying elements in Household Saints. The movie is sort of a mix of the sacred and profane stirred together with spicy sausages and household cleaning tips.

Vincent D'Onofrio is a neighborhood butcher in New York's Little Italy who wins his wife (Tracey Ullman) in a pinochle game. Ullman isn't altogether happy with her new life. Specifically, she has problems dealing with her mother-in-law, a vulture-eyed woman of the Old World who has an icon for every ailment and a superstition for any situation. Mama also goes for advice from her dead husband, who pops up in the living room and dispenses wisdom about god and playing cards.

Ullman's family is just as odd. Her father, unlike that of her new husband's, is alive, but he's normally two sheets to the wind (in which state he used her as a bet in the pinochle game). Her brother is equally odd, being obsessed with the opera Madame Butterfly and Japanese women. Stranger still, Ullman is destined to give birth to a daughter who will become an unofficial saint of housework and religious faithfulness. (The child's power is so great that even the sausages made in her father's shop become legendary for their curative powers.)

Household Saints is a rambling tale that veers unexpectedly between moments of surreal splendor and grim realism. It also walks a fine line between ethnic humor and crazy tragedy. The movie's strong first half gives way to a moody, slower finale. The whole movie's genuinely off-beat in ways that are both touching and amusing. Consider, for instance, the image of Christ at an ironing board, which works as an appropriate and lasting irony.