By Owen Gleiberman
Updated November 01, 1991 at 05:00 AM EST

You can learn a lot about Hollywood from the movies stars they choose to make when their stock is high — that is, when they can do what they want. Take Demi Moore. After the success of Ghost, she decided to star in The Butcher’s Wife, in which she plays Marina, a golden-tressed clairvoyant from North Carolina — she’s like a mermaid without fins — who marries a butcher (George Dzundza), moves to New York City, and uses her psychic power to help bring couples together. Jeff Daniels is the fellow she ends up falling for, an uptight psychiatrist who’s always trying to rationalize everything (you know how men are), and Mary Steenburgen is the spinster music teacher who wakes up and realizes she wants to sing the blues. The Butcher’s Wife is like one of those woman-as-magical-sprite sitcoms from the ’60s (Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie) sprinkled with New Age fairy dust. The movie might have been concocted by a convention of flaked-out astrologers. It’s one coy, dithering, go-nowhere scene after another. F

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