Heading into what is my 357th day of festive films in a row, I steel myself with the knowledge that it won’t be long until I’m done. Today, it’s 1996’s The Preacher’s Wife, a soulful, pleasant ‘90s update of Cary Grant classic The Bishop’s Wife and it’s a thoroughly pleasing film, with added powerful gospel singing courtesy of Whitney Houston (The Bodyguard). It’s hard to resist any film with the star-studded pairing of Whitney and Denzel Washington. Courtney B. Vance as the struggling preacher is technically the lead but barely gets a look-in, such is the awesome, magnetic power of these two showbiz titans.
Sure, the film is corny but it’s also an enjoyable watch, thanks mainly to Houston who, on top of being one of the most jaw-droppingly awesome singers of all time, proves she can also play both angelically righteous and devilishly flirtatious at the same time. This one doesn’t do much new with the formula of the 1947 original but smartly takes advantage of Whitney’s divine vocal chords with a lot of electrifying gospel choir singing scenes, which are worth the price of admission alone.
Vance is Pastor Henry, doing his best to deal with his church literally falling to pieces around him with not enough donations in the collection tray to mend it. The neighbourhood is blighted by crime, the boiler is on the fritz and a greedy land developer wants to knock it all down (don’t they always?) to put up flashy condos and tennis courts. “My people don’t play a lot of tennis”, Henry complains and he barely has a second to think, never mind devote time to loving wife Julia (Houston) who’s also the star singer in the choir.
With their problems mounting, their marriage could be on the rocks and it looks like it’s going to take a miracle to save this Christmas. Henry prays for help and, lo and behold, along comes Denzel’s suave, charming angel Dudley. He’s no Cary Grant but absolutely the perfect fit for this film, his self-assured, cocky grin lighting up the screen. Dudley seems new to the job and has a tough time convincing the good pastor that he’s genuinely heaven-sent but has no trouble cosying up to his missus, taking it upon himself to show the lady a good time if the preacher can’t.
The coolest part here is in the unspoken but obvious mutual attraction between Julia and Dudley - they’re both attractive people and it’s only natural that they should fancy each other, so it’s a pretty edgy element to throw into a Christmas film about faith and religion. There’s a nice, faint ‘will-they-won’t-they’ vibe to things with a few furtive glances and half smiles to keep us guessing. This is never more tantalising than in the film’s standout scene, a funny, moving sequence at a jazz club. Denzel dances goofily while Whitney lets it all loose on the stage, singing her heart out with the house band, led by Lionel Richie, putting on a silly, gravelly voice to show us all that, yes, he is indeed acting, darling. It’s a great bit that has me tapping my toe and beaming from ear to ear. I don’t normally go for this sort of thing but I guess I’m a man transformed after 51 weeks of festive schmaltz.
It’s not an overly Christmassy film but focuses on how life can be unbearably hectic at this time of year for anyone for whom Christ is their business. I feel a kinship with Henry, constantly struggling to keep everyone happy but often failing miserably. The festive season, with all the extra odd jobs and engagements it invokes can make life seriously stressful and what I wouldn’t give to have a Dudley of my own swoop in, make things right again and keep the missus happy.
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