Waitress
I have to start by saying, and I’m sorry any regular readers if I say this all the time, I have a hard time accepting characters like Keri Russell’s here. The film doesn’t dilly dally, and we launch immediately into her discovering she’s pregnant having stalled doing the test for far too long … and when she finally gets a doctor she’s comfortable with, her first question is how far along she is. Just stitch my lips, ‘cos I’m not gonna launch into the thousand reasons why this situation stirs no empathy whatsoever in me except for the poor baby which probably won’t live long enough to appreciate it (yeh, go ahead: I know the ending here states the opposite – it really doesn’t give me much faith for other similar pregnancies).
“Nobody ever tells you beforehand how ridiculously hard it’s gonna be,” says a mother with awkward child who Russell stares agog at during certain scenes.
Well, yes, I’m sorry but they f**king do. There are countless movies now that tell you this, even more countless TV shows and soaps, and goodness knows even more of those “coffee break” gossip magazines they need to fill with nobodies’ stories – y’know, magazines that girls like this particularly girl would read. You’re basically mental to bring a kid into the world nowadays and if you do so you should damn well have some semblance of an idea of how you’re gonna care for it. I’m sorry but there’s no sympathy from me in these movies anymore. You’ve got a kid in your home or in your tummy? Be happy or get rid of it while you’re legally allowed to do so (obviously not an option if the kid is already in your home, lol).
And god help me if I see another pregnancy scene that’s exactly like every other pregnancy scene in history presented as if it’s some deep dark secret only doctors and women understand (OMG those creatures without penises scream so much, I have never seen such a thing in my life!!!! rolls eyes). I’m just sick of it now. It’s not the fault of this movie in particular, honestly … but I’m just sick of it. Even the movie in itself is not more moving or spectacular than any random home movie showing the miracle of birth would be. If you find your emotions stirring at the end, really, do yourself a favour and consider whether it’s the movie or the basic idea of precious new life that’s doing it for you.
Junebug, The Opposite of Sex, SherryBaby. Cute at times this may be but it’s not worth a thing compared to those three. I guess if you’ve been beaten around by an asshole you might get something out of it, but you kinda have to wonder if that really needs to be reason to love a movie.