I suffered through George Miller‘s The Witches of Eastwick (’87) once, and that was enough. Talk about an empty, vulgar, over-budgeted, effects-driven hodgepodge…wow. Sloppy, coarse, deeply unfunny. Candy-colored Vilmos Zsigmond cinematography, pink balloons, huge yellow tennis balls, etc. Jack Nicholson was on the ample, over-fed side during filming. I remember a woman agent complaining that he looked like “a moose,” and that it wasn’t good that he had bigger boobs than costars Cher, Michelle Pfeiffer and Susan Sarandon. John Updike‘s “The Witches of Eastwick” (’84) was a different, darker kettle of fish. I’ve never even considered re-watching it on Amazon.
