Review: Bridesmaids

It's an unfortunate fact that in the world of Hollywood movies, male-driven comedies are for everyone while female-driven comedies are for the most part considered to be just for women. Whether this says more about audience perceptions or the way in which comedies focused on women are made and marketed is up for debate, but it's certainly a shame that mainstream movies about women seem to be so segregated by gender.

Co-written by and starring SNL alumna turned movie star in the ascendant Kristen Wiig, Bridesmaids has a real chance to introduce audiences of either and all genders to the funny side of the distinctly female-oriented process of pre-wedding bridal rituals. With The Hangover 2 failing to recapture the sparky energy of its predecessor (despite, or perhaps because of, being a shameless clone), the film is also in position to become summer 2011's best-loved adult comedy.

Thankfully, Bridesmaids grabs its opportunity by the horns, wrestles it to the ground and shouts jokes into its ears until it busts a gut laughing. Anchored by a central performance by Wiig that's as endearing and well-pitched as you're likely to see this year, the film is a roaring success, bringing out the muck and mayhem of wedding showers, bachelorette parties and the awkwardness of enforced bonding with comedic flair and a genuine feel for character.

The movie opens with our heroine Annie (Wiig) autopiloting through an uninspired hump session with handsome, self-obsessed fuck-buddy Ted (Jon Hamm). The inevitable disappointment that follows these meaningless booty calls echoes the vague sense of defeat that follows Annie around. Her bakery business has collapsed like a wet meringue under the weight of the recession, taking her boyfriend and her life savings with it, leaving her renting a small room from a couple of weirdo limeys (one of whom has a suspiciously appalling accent).

When Annie's best friend Lillian (Maya Rudolph) tells her she's getting married to her long-term boyfriend, she's secretly worried that they'll drift apart. But she's duly appointed maid of honour, so it's her job to corral Lillian and her friends, including rich, beautiful friendship rival Helen (Rose Byrne), through the fraught process of setting up the bride-to-be for her big day.

The set-up certainly doesn't sound like anything new, but as with all comedy, the secret's in the delivery. And the movie certainly delivers laughs, with the kind of brassy, unaffected style that's so rare in modern rom coms. The character-based comedy rolls easily off the script as the bridesmaids' personalities and histories unfurl, from frustrated mother Rita (on her teenage sons: "Everything is covered in semen. I literally broke a blanket in half, do you see what I'm saying?") to Lillian's future sister-in-law Megan (Melissa McCarthy), a massive slab of a woman who combines hulking machismo, unbridled sexual energy and just a hint of social autism with such commitment that she becomes the movie's most consistent comedy engine.

There's plenty of room for slapstick too, with a hyper-aggressive, mostly slow motion tennis match between Annie and Helen a particular highlight. So much critical vitriol has been poured onto the infamous "dress fitting/food poisoning" scene that I expect to hate it, but it's a pretty spectacular piece of gross-out. You owe it to yourself to behold a fully grown woman in an ornate bridal gown shitting her guts out in the middle of a busy street, staring helplessly at her friends.

But it's the central relationship between Annie and Lillian that binds the movie together and gives it a heart to match its funny bone. Wiig and Rudolph's natural charisma as a duo brings an effortless credibility to their friendship, which in turn gives context to the strain that their relationship endures throughout the movie. Annie's anxiety about being left behind as Lillian embraces a new life and a new set of wealthy friends, as well as her fear of failure and her battered self-esteem, are universally relatable themes, and as the hysteria ramps up towards the end of the film, these themes keep the characters from feeling cartoonish.

Bridesmaids has been hailed by many as a sort of ultra-modern feminist affirmation, but in reality, Wiig and co-writer Annie Mumolo are having far too much fun engaging with and subverting stereotypes of femininity to stick to any particular agenda. While the movie is effortlessly progressive in its portrayal of women as individuals with a diverse set of strengths and flaws (which should surely be a given by now), this is Grade-A entertainment first and foremost. But it's certainly refreshing to see the usually all-engrossing love interest (charmingly played here by The IT Crowd's Chris O'Dowd) sidelined in favour of a genuinely heartwarming female friendship.

A couple of niggling flaws hold Bridesmaids back just enough to be worth mentioning. The core triangle of Annie, Lillian and Lillian's intimidating new friend Helen, impressive as it is, dominates proceedings to the extent that a couple of the bridesmaids are left out in the cold somewhat, with the aforementioned lusty mum Rita and Ellie Kemper's twitchy newlywed Becca not given quite enough room to flesh out their intriguing character concepts. The film also wraps up a little neatly considering the preceding histrionics; Wiig, Mumola and director Paul Feig seem to take their feet off the emotional gas on the home stretch in favour of tried-and-tested rom com cliche.

A couple of minor slip-ups are nowhere near enough to hide Bridesmaids' immense strengths, however. The movie, produced by Judd Apatow, easily stands up with the cream of the crop of the Apatow Productions stable. Like Knocked Up, The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Superbad, Bridesmaids makes walking the precarious tightrope between hilarity and heart look easy. The film may have a hard time marketing itself to a universal comedy audience; several of my friends admitted to dismissing it out of hand, assuming it was cut from the standard chick flick cloth. In reality, it's a hilarious, very sweet movie spearheaded by some very funny women, a must-watch for comedy fans, no matter the shape of their genitalia.
Satisfaction Score: 9/10

Interest Score: 7/10

IMPECCABLE - Cinematic careers that can't be pecked

The perfect career. The unachievable dream; the sirens calling from the rocky shoreline. The law of averages seems to suggest a 100 per cent hit-rate can’t be done. Even cinema’s mecha-titans have movies that weigh heavy on their conscience – Spielberg has that Crystal Skull nonsense; Raimi probably still wakes up at night weeping over turning Spiderman 3 into a musical comedy, and studio bullying meant that David Fincher’s Alien³ left us wondering what might have been, and why they had to put the 3 all the way up there.

Of course it can’t be done. But it’s a quixotic exercise in futility that is inherently noble. So here’s a list of some of the very select group who have made a great start or gotten pretty damn close, which usually means they’re too early in their career to have been tempted into shovelling crap for the Hollywood dollar or they’re too young to have died inside and stopped caring. In any case, a clean(ish) score card is a rare and impressive feat; long may their winning streaks continue.

PAUL THOMAS ANDERSON

When a director is five features into their career, they’ve usually produced enough material to have revealed the strengths and weaknesses that they’ll be trying to harness or minimise throughout their career. Well, after writing and directing five uniformly excellent films, Paul Thomas Anderson’s weaknesses are nowhere to be found. His unflinching style is distinctive but is always restrained enough to serve the narrative. He shares Todd Solondz’s fascination with the inner workings of desperate characters but with less of the soul-destroying pessimism. He’s a prodigious talent when it comes to both marshalling huge ensembles (Magnolia) and directing towering central performances (There Will Be Blood). With each consecutive film, Anderson has grown from an indie upstart to a bold, fully-formed auteur. It’s clear that the man always had vision, but he’s also got the craft to back up his art. Of the American indie outsiders who came to dominate the American arthouse scene in the 90s (Tarantino, David O Russell, Bryan Singer etc), Paul Thomas Anderson is at the front of the pack, a spot he shares with very few.

Impeccable-est moment: The dry heat and simmering misanthropy of There Will Be Blood marks the culmination of PTA’s advancing skill. Running a close second is the homage to a real TV ad fail that he made with Philip Seymour Hoffman for Punch-Drunk Love – here’s the original and here’s PTA’s version.

SOFIA COPPOLA

Sure, no one likes to admit that daddy’s little dynastic princess is any good, and yes, she kind of ruined The Godfather Part III (with a lot of help from dad). But when it comes to writing and directing her own features, Coppola is beyond reproach. The Virgin Suicides is one of the most startlingly assured debuts of the last twenty years, smothered in mystery, tragedy, and half-recalled adolescent memories. From there, Coppola has marked herself as an unparalleled aesthete, moving effortlessly from the Lost In Translation’s Tokyo nightscape to the gilded splendour of Versailles as seen in the much-misunderestimated Marie Antoinette. But that’s not to say she’s an empty painter of pretty pictures – far from it. She’s an absolutely masterful writer and director of women, allowing, as so few Hollywood films do, female characters to be alluring yet damaged; confused and alone; brave but soulless. In short, she writes women as they should be written, but so rarely are. 2010 will see Coppola return with Somewhere, in which we’ll see if her intuition for female leads also applies to men, as Stephen Dorff plays an excessive Hollywood waster holed up at the Chateau Marmont hotel who is forced to make adjustments after the arrival of his 11 year-old daughter. Apparently, Jackass’ Chris Pontius will co-star, which makes me excited and terrified at the same time.

Impeccable-est moment: Lost In Translation is seductive from peachy prologue to enigmatic end. Never has a film about emptiness and nothing been so consistently engaging.

JUDD APATOW

Judd Apatow is a pie-fingerer. No doubt about it; you heard it here first. After the breakout success of his debut feature The 40 Year-Old Virgin, the writer/director/producer has spread himself thinner than a lonely guff wafting around the Grand Canyon. The result? While he’s produced some excellent comedies in the last few years (Superbad, Pineapple Express), he’s also lent his name to some unbelievable cinematic excretions (Fun with Dick and Jane, Walk Hard). So why’s he on this impeccable careers list? Well, because when he gets fully involved in a project as writer and director, that’s about as solid a stamp of quality as you can get. The 40 Year-Old Virgin is arguably the very best in the zany improvised high concept comedy subgenre (yes, even better than Anchorman); Knocked Up kept the funnies coming but with an added injection of emotional subtext and grounding in reality. Funny People marks a real step forward for Apatow, pushing the drama component to his dramedy cocktail even further and eschewing the nigh-inevitable neat happy ending in favour of a genuinely insightful look at the desperation and emotional neediness that swirls around the stand-up comedy circuit. Just as Sofia Coppola is an expert writer of women, Apatow’s strength lies in depicting various shades of boys, men and man-boys struggling to interact with the world in a meaningful way. It’ll be interesting to see what direction he takes for his first movie of the next decade, but one thing’s for sure – if he puts his heart into it, I’ll watch it.

Impeccable-est moment: If I don’t mention Undeclared and Freaks & Geeks I’ll lose all credibility as a card-carrying internet opinionista, but truthfully, Apatow’s finest moment came when harnessing collective comedy experiences and in-depth knowledge of fame and its effects to help craft Adam Sandler’s self-referential, career-defying turn as sad, aging funnyman George Simmons in Funny People.

WES ANDERSON

When two films as good as The Life Aquatic and The Darjeeling Limited are described as your period of creative malaise, you know you’re in a good place. You’re in a good place because the products of your “creative malaise” are better than 99 per cent of other movies, and all your critics are just jealous of your stupendous talent. Seriously though, Wes Anderson movies leave themselves open to cynicism because they are defined by the stately visual style and dialogue affectations that have always been hallmarks of his work. But Anderson’s movies are such a rarity in an industry that has always preferred to overstatement over subtext that each feature, even those that might be remembered as minor additions to his body of work, feels refreshing and unusual. And while his style might seem to take precedent over traditional narrative, Anderson’s characters are always complex, sympathetic and engaging. Especially when they have daddy issues, which 84 per cent of them do.

Impeccable-est moment: Fantastic Mr. Fox was so charming it almost burst my ventricles, but I’m going to be predictable and pick The Royal Tenenbaums as the most elegant implementation of everything that makes Anderson great: music, casting, dialogue and camera dynamism all combine to create one big swirling vortex of daddy issues. Who raised this guy, the devil?

TERENCE MALICK

You’re probably going to read a lot of gushing superlatives concerning Terence Malick on this blog, so I’ll try to keep it short. With four films in nearly as many decades, Malick takes his time. It shows. He was a Harvard and Oxford-educated philosophy professor before moving into film, and his movies toss away traditional narrative and focus on delivering mood and unspoken thought through staggeringly beautiful images and painstakingly considered performance. His films are the perfect example of what movies can accomplish that no other medium can. His next film, The Tree Of Life, may well see release this year, which would mean two Malick films in the space of five years. Truly, we live in an age of wonders.

Impeccable-est moment: It’s too soul-destroying to pick between his four features (Badlands, Days Of Heaven, The Thin Red Line, The New World), so let’s zoom in. Never has the horror and unnatural violation of industrialised warfare been better dramatised than in The Thin Red Line’s haunting cutaways – a dead Japanese soldier’s staring face, half buried in mud; an injured bird writhing in the oily sand. Compare the war scenes with the movie’s unforgettable opening montage of a Melanesian tribe’s idyllic existence and you get a pretty clear picture of Malick’s opinion on mankind and its natural place in the world.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS: Shane Meadows, Andrea Arnold, Mel Gibson, Nick Broomfield, David Simon, Paul Greengrass, Edgar Wright, Spike Jonze, Park Chan-wook, Stanley Kubrick, Hayao Miyazaki, Pedro Almodovar, Brad Bird, John Hughes, Akira Kurosawa, Rian Johnson