Heartbreakers

I recently revisited Heartbreakers on a rainy Tuesday afternoon while my neighbor’s leaf blower was screaming rhythmically in the background, and honestly, the sheer audacity of Sigourney Weaver trying to fake a Russian accent while belt-screaming "Back in the U.S.S.R." is the exact kind of cinematic chaos I need to stay sane. There is a specific brand of early-2000s studio comedy that has largely evaporated: the mid-budget, star-studded farce that looks like it was filmed through a jar of apricot jam and features at least three legendary actors doing things they probably didn't tell their agents about.

Heartbreakers is the pinnacle of this "forgotten but golden" category. It’s a con-artist caper wrapped in a mother-daughter psychodrama, dressed in a wardrobe consisting entirely of spandex and push-up bras. It’s glossy, it’s about twenty minutes too long, and it is a total blast.

The Con is a Family Business

The premise is a masterclass in mean-spirited efficiency. Max (Sigourney Weaver) and her daughter Page (Jennifer Love Hewitt) are a two-woman wrecking crew. Max finds a wealthy, lonely mark—usually a guy who thinks with his wallet first and his lizard brain second—and marries him. Within days, Page "accidentally" finds herself in a compromising position with the new husband, Max "catches" them, and they walk away with a massive divorce settlement. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Watching Sigourney Weaver (the woman who faced down Xenomorphs in Aliens) play a flirtatious, manipulative grifter is a revelation. She isn't just "doing comedy"; she is attacking the role with the same intensity she brought to The Ice Storm. Opposite her, Jennifer Love Hewitt—at the absolute height of her Party of Five and I Know What You Did Last Summer fame—proves she had the comedic chops to be more than just a poster girl. Their chemistry is spiked with genuine venom, capturing that specific mother-daughter dynamic where you want to hug each other and push each other off a moving boat at the same time.

Hackman and the Art of the Gross-Out

While the central duo keeps the plot moving, the film is hijacked midway by Gene Hackman as William B. Tensy, a tobacco tycoon who is essentially a sentient, hacking cough in a silk robe. Hackman was coming off a legendary career (The French Connection, Unforgiven) and was just about to hit his final comedic peak in The Royal Tenenbaums. Here, he is aggressively, hilariously repulsive. He spends most of his screen time wheezing, yellow-toothed and soot-covered, and it’s a reminder that truly great actors love playing absolute monsters.

The supporting cast is equally over-qualified. Ray Liotta plays the first "mark," a small-time hood from Jersey who is so hopelessly in love with Max that he’s basically a golden retriever with a gambling problem. Jason Lee, fresh off his Kevin Smith indie run in Mallrats and Chasing Amy, provides the only soul in the movie as Jack, the nice guy Page accidentally starts falling for. Then there’s Anne Bancroft—yes, The Graduate's Mrs. Robinson herself—showing up as a cynical mentor. It’s a lineup that feels impossible today; the budget for this cast alone would probably bankrupt a modern indie studio.

A Glossy Relic of the Early Aughts

Director David Mirkin, who previously gave us the cult classic Romy and Michele's High School Reunion, leans hard into the artifice of the era. The cinematography by Dean Semler (Mad Max: The Road Warrior) makes Palm Beach look like a neon-lit postcard, and the score by Danny Elfman adds a layer of whimsical mischief. This was the peak of DVD culture—I remember buying the disc just to see the "making of" featurettes that were standard at the time. It’s a movie designed for the transition from analog to digital, before the internet made these kinds of physical grifts feel impossible.

The film did okay at the box office, but it vanished quickly. It’s too raunchy for some, too silly for others, and at 123 minutes, it tests the patience of the casual viewer. But this movie has a higher joke-density than most modern sitcoms, and it trusts the audience to enjoy watching terrible people do terrible things to even worse people. It’s a farce in the classic sense, updated with early-2000s cynicism.

If you can ignore the slightly bloated runtime and the fact that everyone is constantly wearing tinted sunglasses, Heartbreakers is a total joy. It represents a time when Hollywood still took big swings on original comedies with actual production value. It’s mean, it’s loud, and seeing Gene Hackman struggle to breathe while being seduced by Sigourney Weaver is a piece of cinematic history that deserves to be pulled out of the bargain bin and celebrated. Turn your brain off, grab a drink, and enjoy the grift.