An export of the one-man regional cinema of Victor Nuñez. That region would of course be Florida (Gal Young 'Un, A Flash of Green, Ruby in Paradise), this time the swampy back country, with brief and reluctant excursions to the state penitentiary and the druggy depths of Orlando. The lead role affords Peter Fonda, after a couple of decades of neglect and obscurity, a conscious and even self-conscious crack at a Henry Fonda role, a standoffish, stiff-necked widower, wounded war veteran, and third-generation beekeeper, raising two granddaughters while his disgraceful son serves out a prison term for robbery and his errant daughter-in-law consorts with scheming no-goodniks. The chief interest of this piece of casting is the cruel evidence it provides of how loosely the son fills the old man's shoes: an ironic parallel to the fictional storyline. (With the added years and pounds and the subtracted hair, Peter looks as though he will much sooner turn into M. Emmet Walsh than into Henry.) The movie as a whole -- weak spine and all -- is warm-hearted, humble, homely, decent, and, prior to the crude melodramatic turn near the end, a trifle dull. Possibly the liveliest moment is the lovely bit of shared observation when the helpful neighbor (Patricia Richardson) is grudgingly repaid for her assistance by way of a civilized invitation to tea. We notice what she notices, and we notice her noticing it: the rugged mug her host is drinking from and the extraordinary efforts made on the guest's behalf to set a place suitable for a lady: cloth mat, neatly folded paper napkin, China cup, silver spoon. Sweet as tupelo honey. (1997) — Duncan Shepherd
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