REVIEW: Transformers: Dark of the Moon

Movie critics love bad movies, and don't let any one of us tell you differently. Oh sure, no one likes to have to sit through a bad movie, but being able to rip it a new one in a public forum results in a certain cathartic satisfaction.

So you can imagine my giddy anticipation when it came to seeing the assuredly awful "Transformers: Dark of the Moon." I like to think it's a lot like Albert Pujols must feel when some hapless pitcher hangs a curveball over the middle of the plate. So you can see how let down I was when I discovered I was enjoying myself for sizeable stretches of the movie.

Seeing how this is the third "Transformers" movie you can see how my expectations would be pretty well set in stone. I actually enjoyed the first film for the mindless fun that it was because it put me in the same mind-space of being 12 years old and throwing a lit roll of Black Cats behind my little sister's chair. The second "Transformers" movie was so incomprehensibly terrible that it was impossible to enjoy on even the most basic levels.

This time around the third "Transformers" does get back to basics in a sense, but don't let me mislead you into thinking that this film — as a movie — isn't a complete and total failure, because it is. As pure spectacle, however it is a stunning visual achievement that will blow away even the most jaded of cinematic thrill-seekers.

I am going to follow director Michael Bay's lead and not bother you with the plot. Just know that there are good and bad alien robots that disguise themselves as vehicles and they fight. That's about it.
Among the movie's flaws is that it is overlong by roughly one hour, clocking in at 153 minutes. When you consider it took Terrence Malick roughly the same amount of time to encapsulate the creation of the entire universe in "Tree of Life," you'd think we could get alien robots to resolve their differences in about an hour and a half.

Returning is Shia LaBeouf as the moderately obnoxious Sam Witwicky, pal to the good-guy Autobots. Gone is Megan Fox; as it turns out, she wasn't as beautiful and unique a snowflake as she thought. She is easily replaced by Victoria's Secret model Rosie Huntington-Whiteley as Sam's impossibly-hot girlfriend. I guess being obscenely attractive and being filmed while running in slow-motion doesn't require a highly-specialized skill set.

There are some strange turns by reasonably respected actors like John Malkovich, Frances McDormand and Patrick Dempsey. John Turturro also returns as the unhinged agent Simmons. I like to think the "Transformers" trilogy exists for the sole purpose of landing the under-appreciated Turturro a huge payday. In a strange way, that helps me sleep a little better at night.

When humans are on the screen, the movie is bizarrely uninteresting and it feels like each actor is playing a character from a completely different, unrelated movie. It wouldn't surprise me at all to learn that the cast showed up totally hammered every day of production.

But let's be honest, we're not here for the people, we're here for the fighting robots! "Transformers: Dark of the Moon" is the first movie since "Avatar" that I can in good conscious recommend paying the extra money to see in 3D. Bay makes impressive use of a technology Hollywood has pretty much squandered up to this point.

I would also like to point out that this is certainly the most violent of the three movies and parents would be wise to pay heed to the "PG-13" rating unless you want to deal with a lot of killer-robot nightmares.
The last hour of the movie, which features the systematic destruction of Chicago, is an unrelenting succession of astounding action set-pieces. A couple of times I actually felt the sensation of being on a roller coaster.

Perhaps that's the best description of "Transformers: Dark of the Moon:" a sensory-assaulting amusement-park ride, devoid of story or emotion that leaves your pulse racing, your stomach queasy and your head light enough to think it would be a good idea to get in line again. "Transformers: Dark of the Moon" is rated PG-13 for intense prolonged sequences of sci-fi action violence, mayhem and destruction, and for language, some sexuality and innuendo.

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Movie Review: Cars 2

I love Pixar movies. I think "Wall-E" is one of the best animated movies of all time. In a column I wrote in early December last year, I named "Toy Story 3" the best film of the year. I also heaped praise on "Up" when it came out in 2009. So compared to those topnotch films, "Cars 2" falls well short of what viewers have come to expect from Pixar. Lightning McQueen (voiced by Owen Wilson) is back as a main character, competing in a worldwide Grand Prix that sends him to Japan, Italy and England.

In a curious - and ultimately wrong - decision, Pixar storytellers bumped the silly tow truck character Mater (voiced by Larry the Cable Guy) into a lead role position. Mater was wisely used in the 2006 original film as sporadic comic relief. Here, his role is as large, if not larger, than Lightning McQueen's story, and that ultimately led to this film being so uneven.

While McQueen is competing in the Grand Prix races, Mater gets mixed up in espionage, after an undercover U.S. agent slips him a disc of valuable information. This could have worked out as a fun "James Bond" or "Mission: Impossible" story. However, the silliness of Mater's storyline feels instead made it like Steve Carrell's "Get Smart" or Mike Myers' "Austin Powers" or the cartoon "Inspector Gadget," as Mater continuously, and unintentionally, succeeds at being a spy. Mater's character becomes so silly and absurd, it will make the most patient of parents watching this film with their children roll their eyes. Children will enjoy the silliness much more than adults, which is so unusual for a Pixar film.

Also a major plot point is that all the ‘lemon cars' from over the years of bad automotive mistakes are out to get revenge on all the high-performance cars in the world. I thought some of this was poorly explained and too confusing, and I'm sure much of it went over the heads of the children in the audience.

The highlight of the film, as expected, is the wonderful Pixar graphics. Japan, Italy, Paris and England are spectacular and vivid. The race sequences through the streets of these historic locales are fun and energized.

Some people might complain that the film has too much of a political message, about the need to use green fuels, but I didn't have a problem with the similar themes in "Wall-E," so I have no qualms about the underlying messages here.

"Cars 2" earned $68 million domestically and a total of $110 million worldwide in its debut weekend, and even with mediocre-at-best reviews, it is likely going to gross $500 million worldwide. Critics at Rottentomatoes.com gave it a dismal 33 percent approval rating. Viewers liked the film a lot more than critics nationwide, with 50 percent giving it an ‘A' grade, while another 18 percent gave it a ‘B' grade, at Boxofficemojo.com. However, a full 19 percent gave it an ‘F' grade, a sign that many adults were disappointed. If I could summarize this films problem in one sentence it would be ‘Too much Mater, not enough McQueen.' I think parents will agree.

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Movie Review - Tree of Life

Answering the question “where is God?” with “everywhere and nowhere” is usually a bit of a let-down, so it’s a sign of just how skilled a film-maker Terrance Malick (The Thin Red Line, Badlands) is that he doesn’t just get away with it in Tree of Life, he makes it seem truly profound. It helps that he crafts some of the more beautiful images seen in film today – there’s a reason why at least one of the posters is comprised of nothing but still images from the film – and, more importantly, it feels like a question he’s actually interested in answering. A lot of arthouse films down the deeper end of the pool dabble in the metaphysical but only succeed in making the meaning of life feel like a hipster pose: Malick has made a film that feels like a man trying to explain what he feels rather than one trying to impress you with how deep he thinks.

That’s not to say he’s not afraid to get heavy: the film opens with a fuzzy shot of glowing light against darkness while a whispered voiceover – and Malick loves his whispered voice-overs, with pretty much everyone getting their chance to muse about the nature of existence and their place in it in hushed tones – asks “Brother. Mother. What are we to you?” It’s the type of ponderous pondering Malick loves, but it’s not just idle speculation: the story proper begins with the delivery of a telegram (it’s the mid 20th century in small town America) announcing the death of one of the sons of Mr O’Brien (Brad Pitt) and his wife (Jessica Chastain).

Wracked with grief, the mother walks the streets. Her son is dead: where is God? The film answers with an extended wordless sequence basically detailing the history of the universe, Earth, and life upon it. Yes, that includes dinosaurs. It’s awe-inspiring in scope, if a little straightforward in subject: Malick doesn’t have a whole lot to say about the development of life on Earth past marvelling at it, but here at least that’s enough.

Eventually we return to small town America, which we eventually figure out is Waco, Texas. It’s a decade or so before the death at the film’s beginning, and the focus is the pre-teen Jack (Hunter McCracken), eldest son of the O’Brien’s. He and his two younger brothers play and explore their world under the guidance of their parents, who’re gradually revealed (Malick doesn’t do anything in a hurry) to have very different takes on the world.

For their mother (and, you might suspect, for Malick), the world is a wondrous, holy place, filled with grace and kindness. For their father, it’s a hard world where everyone will screw you over if they can and weakness is fatal. We see her literally dancing on air; he teaches the boys to fight by ordering them to hit him in the face.

This is the real meat of the film, which comes as a bit of a surprise considering an hour ago we were watching dinosaurs in a river. Half of this film exists in the reality of the past, where life is hard-edged and Jack is increasingly angry for reasons he can’t explain. Then there’s the half that drifts through time and across the surface of the Earth, with a grown up Jack (Sean Penn) wandering through a metaphorical landscape and passing through an empty doorframe to a vision of everyone he’s ever known.

In a lesser director’s hands it’d be all but impossible to reconcile the two, but Malick makes it work. If grace or God or nature or whatever you want to call it is everywhere, then everybody’s story is a story about grace. Despite some excellent performances, Tree of Life is perhaps a little too reserved to be truly moving; it’s a hard to really feel deeply for individual characters when you’re suddenly swept away to witness the end of life on Earth. But it is a beautiful, intelligent film, sharp and insightful about the bond between father and son, thoughtful and amazed at the world that created them.

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Movie Review: Bad Teacher

After a highly effective smutty wink of an ad campaign, one could be forgiven for thinking that the “bad” in “Bad Teacher” refers to a public school educator who fools around with her students. A lot of adolescent males may turn out opening weekend in the hopes of seeing Cameron Diaz stoke their hot-for-teacher fantasies, but that’s not what the movie’s about.

Make no mistake: Diaz’s character, Elizabeth Halsey, is bad, a coarsely self-centered and manipulative gold-digger. The only reason she’s a teacher at John Adams Middle School is that her goal in life is to land $10,000 for breast-enhancement surgery. The basic joke of “Bad Teacher,” which director Jake Kasdan hits the audience with over and over again, is that Elizabeth is the most dislikable character of the year.

Diaz, in smeary make-up, certainly makes ill-tempered shrillness convincing, but there isn’t much spark to her performance, and there’s so little bounce or real shock to the movie’s overly controlled “look how rude we’re being!” black comedy that the audience is left stranded.

Viewers won’t find themselves on Elizabeth’s side or anyone else’s, really. This is a film that tries to pass off misanthropic blunt-wittedness as “edge. Justin Timberlake, as a sexy-nerd substitute, has enough campy sincerity to make viewers wish he’d been allowed an additional note, and Jason Segel, as a romantic phys-ed teacher, lays on the puppy-dog sweetness.

The best actor of the bunch, though, may be Lucy Punch as Elizabeth’s nice-teacher enemy. Looking like an angelic Lady Gaga, she turns this goody two shoes into the world’s most self-actualized valley girl. Even when Lucy Punch’s character is insufferable, audiences will like her — a trick that “Bad Teacher” could have used more of.

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Avan Ivan: Brothers, bravado and a little bit of Bala

Vishal may not have undergone as much physical stress for all his ventures put together as he has for Avan Ivan. Sporting a squint, being effeminate without going overboard and performing the part of the bold and powerful avenger with zeal, Vishal plays a superb knock on the field well-laid out for him by Bala. It must have been a strenuous game for the actor because the cock-eyed look is not make-up wizardry or graphics gimmickry, but a veritable challenge. Vishal looks invincible. Hats off to the actor for an excellent show!

Traversing a light course for the most part, it is only in the last 20 minutes that Avan Ivan (U/A) changes tack, gets serious and transforms into a typical Bala film, with the maker's acumen gushing out in the actions and reactions of the main actors. Suresh Urs' editing enhances the brilliance of the segment. The cuts to the past in the climax that explain the developments in the story are examples.

Aarya is a perfect foil for Vishal — his brash demeanour and genuine affection for his stepbrother come out well in many of the scenes. He deserves appreciation for taking up a role that isn't as heroic as Vishal's and presenting it convincingly.

It's a multi-layered part for G.M. Kumar, as Zamin Thirthapathi. If you empathise with Thirthapathi, the credit goes to Kumar's moving portrayal. It appeals even more because Bala shows him to be a very sensitive person. The brothers look up to him and when he is harmed they aren't going to let the criminal get away.

Ambika goes around with a canaster on her lips, takes a puff or two and talks about downing a drink — so what? The irrelevance irks. Prabha Ramesh, whom you've watched playing heroine in a few films long ago, returns as Aarya's mom. The two women are loud, cantankerous, petty, kind and caring, all at once. Such a combination of attributes is common in the stratum that Bala showcases and hence looks natural.

Heroines Madhushalini and Janani Iyer have little to do. The latter's eyes are her asset. However naïve the girls are, the two falling for guys whose peccadilloes they are aware of isn't logical. In fact, their lovers' thieving habits only make them smile!

RK is a surprise. And the introduction of a hardcore villain at that point in the narration is forced. The character and its actions are contrived — it is as if Bala desperately needs a baddie at that juncture to take the tale forward!

The gentleness and timidity of sub-inspector Chinnandi is new to Tamil cinema — K. Ramaraj does a neat job of the role. Scatological exchanges in the name of comedy in Pithamagan were few. You hear much more of the same in Avan Ivan that they get disgusting — the dialogue is S. Ramakrishnan's. And many a time you are able to guess the twists in the line.

Some of the locations remind you of Bala's earlier films, Pithamagan and Naan Kadavul. ‘Super' Subbarayan warrants mention for the intensity of the stunts. And Yuvan's re-recording is a definite plus, but for the climactic sequence, where Vishal's anguished murmurs are drowned in the din.

The intermission leaves you wondering at the frivolousness and facileness of the story that's very much unlike Bala. Nothing much happens in the first hour or so. Thankfully, he makes amends with a riveting climax.

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Movie Review: Mr. Popper's Penguins

The trailer for Jim Carrey's new family film, “Mr. Popper's Penguins,” looked awful, leading some to expect the worst. With its impending release, it seems entering with low expectations can be the best way to see a film, because this one is a pleasant surprise.

Carrey plays Mr. Popper, a business man whose work has consumed his life. He's divorced and has lost touch with his two kids. He desperately wants to reconnect with his son and daughter, but they want no part of him. Popper’s life changes when his long-lost dad dies and leaves him six penguins that, needless to say, totally disrupt his life.

Despite his disdain for these birds, his attitude changes when his kids fall in love with them. It's suddenly cool to hang out in dad's fancy, fancy New York apartment. The rest of the plot revolves around Popper rediscovering his softer, gentler side, all due to the penguins. In the process, he becomes a better person, a nice ex-husband and more caring father.

Carrey brings heart and vitality to the role. It's not the crazy, manic Jim Carrey from “The Mask” or “Ace Ventura,” but for what he's called upon to do, he's charming and gets the job done. The birds, a combination of real life penguins and CGI, are quite cute, and the special effects department has done a good job here as well.

The movie is formulaic and audiences will see the gags coming from a mile away. Still, Carrey, along with director Mark Waters, have managed to not make this cloyingly annoying. They’ve injected some sentimentality into the proceedings and somehow it kind of clicks.

This is a family film, and on that level it works. Be warned, it's not the kind of movie that adults should go see by themselves. For those with kids from the ages of seven to 12, it’s a thoroughly enjoyable choice. It's even heartwarming, and parents will have a few laughs along the way, too.

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Blame - movie review

If there’s one thing Australians know how to do, it’s crime. Wait, that should have read, “if there’s one thing Australians know how to do on the big screen, it’s crime”. But this nation’s ability when it comes to cinematic criminality is a two-edged sword for small-scale thrillers like Blame: while crime isn’t a genre that actively scares audiences away (unlike, for example, Australian comedy), it does mean that audiences go in with a certain level of expectation.

For a while at least, it looks like these expectations are going to be met and then some: Blame begins with a music teacher (Damian de Montemas) finishing up work for the day and driving back to his home out in the bush, where he’s set upon by a group of masked (but oddly well-dressed) types who grab him and promptly poison him. Job done, they tidy up and head on their way.

It’s a set-up that poses a lot more questions than it answers, and in a way, whatever followed it was always going to be a bit of a let-down. So when the masks come off (revealing Kestie Morassi, Sophie Lowe, Simon Stone, Mark Leonard Winter and Ashley Zuckerman) and the backstory leading up to the crime is gradually revealed through the groups’ various arguments and demands, it’s hard not to feel a little disappointed at the slackening pace.

When the story sticks to the would-be killers dealing with external threats – let’s just say their scheme doesn’t quite go to plan, and even out in the bush people occasionally decide to just drop in on their neighbours – it works fine as a tight thriller. When the focus shifts to the conflicts between the group – let’s just say not everyone is fully on board with the murder scheme, and those that are have different (and occasionally annoying) motivations for wanting the teacher dead – it highlights some fairly uneven performances from some of the cast.

Usually when this sort of thing happens the blame can be shifted onto poor dialogue or bad writing. But here the story (mostly) works and the dialogue, while occasionally clunky, never wanders too far into the realm of the completely laughable. There are just a handful of scenes where a few cast members don’t seem quite up to what’s asked of them. Whoever’s to blame (sorry), it makes a few developments hard to take seriously and straight-out damages the film as a whole.

Still, this kind of film lives or dies by the twists and turns of its plot, and this one manages to deliver a (not entirely unexpected) development towards the end that keeps things ticking over right up until the final credits. There’s nothing going on here that you haven’t seen done before elsewhere and better, but there’s still enough here that’s fresh – right down to setting it in a peaceful rural setting on a nice sunny day – to make Blame more than just another half-baked stab at a thriller.

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MOVIE REVIEW: Super 8

J.J. Abrams, a household name in the film industry seems like he has a long list of movie credits, but it's actually a rather small list. I knew J.J. Abrams directed the last Star Trek movie, and was behind the TV show Lost. I figured he had 15 other films that I just couldn’t recall. Nope.

Abrams wrote and directed Super 8 – the first big popcorn movie of the summer, and it's going to be huge. Steven Spielberg had hired Abrams to restore the 8mm films he did as a kid, since they were all falling apart, and has said about Abrams, "We’ve come full circle now."

I just wish Abrams wouldn’t have made a movie that is so reminiscent of Spielberg’s early films. Watching the movie, I thought, there’s Close Encounters. Ah, that’s from E.T. A little bit of Goonies there. Hey... there’s some War of the Worlds, and a little bit of Cloverfield. There’s not an original thing about this movie; luckily, it all still works and Super 8 is fun to watch.

The kids in this Ohio town (circa 1979) are filming their own zombie movie. They aren’t obnoxious or more precocious than they needed to be, and so into their craft that they take their time to get the make-up just right. I thought of Lon Chaney, and him taking parts of eggs and putting them in his eyes to make them look milky. When there are a bunch of 14-year-olds with no budget, they resort to similar techniques. The military tries to cover up information about a train wreck (with the military thug played nicely by Noah Emmerich). I've been told recently that I sometimes give away things in my reviews that I shouldn’t; since the trailer merely showed a train wreck and "something" in the cargo car smashing at the walls, that’s all I’ll say. The train crash is exciting, and so was watching a cherried out Nova smash into the back of a Gremlin. We get to enjoy the $45 million dollars spent on Super 8, with some great special effects.

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Review: Judy Moody and the NOT Bummer Summer

Judy Moody and the NOT Bummer Summer is based on a bestselling series of children’s books by librarian-turned-author Megan McDonald. I've read none of the books, but over 14 million copies of them have been sold to date, which leads me to believe there must be some fundamental appeal to them. Whatever it is, none of it is to be found in this grating adaptation. For kids, Judy Moody is at best a harmless diversion; for adults, it’s 90 minutes of cinematic purgatory.

The film stars Jordana Beatty as the title character, a precocious nine-year-old whose wildly unkempt hair, hobo-rainbow wardrobe, and zany portmanteaus like “supercalifragilisticexpithrilladelic” are meant to convey creativity and independence, but more persuasively hint at a future of padded cells and four-point restraints. When the school term ends, Judy prepares for three months of unbridled fun, but her plans are derailed when two of her best friends, Rocky (Garrett Ryan) and Amy (Taylar Hender), announce that they are leaving for the summer. Judy’s summer prospects further diminish when her parents decamp to California to tend to an ailing grandfather, leaving behind her eccentric Aunt Opal (Heather Graham, convincingly crazy), a vagabond free spirit with an interest in “guerrilla art,” to supervise in their stead.

If there’s a point to any of this, director John Schultz (Aliens in the Attic) doesn’t articulate it. The film’s oblique narrative revolves around an arbitrary contest of Judy’s design, in which she and her three friends compete for “thrill points” by completing various activities, like riding a roller coaster or walking a tightrope. The exact stakes of the contest, if there are any, are never made clear, giving us little incentive to care about how any of it turns out. Little matter – each activity is really just a catalyst for some lame gag, the culmination of which usually involves unwanted contact with a) feces, b) vomit, or c) an artificial substance of equivalent unpleasantness. Vaudevillian sound design punctuates each tedious punchline, heightening our collective discomfort.

Schultz’s directorial style is one of aggressive whimsy, making abundant use of canted angles, extreme close-ups, acid-trip set design, CG pop-ups, animated interludes, an omnipresent score that all but shouts “mischief afoot,” and Urkel. Judy Moody was clearly made with minimal funding, with the bulk of said funds devoted to achieving its aesthetic of benign creepiness. One can only imagine how much the film might have been improved if a portion of its budget had been allocated to, say, a second draft of the script, or more than one take for each scene. Bummer.

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Bridesmaids - movie review

If there was one thing that struck me as I left the cinema after seeing the sublime Bridesmaids, it was "Thank god, finally a film that really depicts female friendship". Finally a film that shows how women interact with one another in real life.

Not "Phew, I guess women are funny after all!" or "That was just as good as The Hangover!". Rather, it was a sense of vindication, after years of confusion at being presented with films that purported to depict female relationships but instead provided nightmarish parades of cliche and caricature where everything could be solved by a last-minute sprint through an airport and any emotion can best be expressed through a montage.

Are those days over now that Bridesmaids exists? Probably not - have you seen the trailer for The Vow? - but my god, what a respite. Annie (Kristen Wiig) is flailing through life: she's single, save for regular hook-ups with an uncaring douche (played with unbridled sleazy glee by Jon Hamm), her small business has gone under, and she lives with a pair of creepy roommates (Matt Lucas and Rebel Wilson).

So the chance to be her best friend Lillian's (Maya Rudolph) maid of honour should be a welcome diversion, right? Wrong, and Annie quickly finds herself up the bridal industry shit creek without a paddle. (And, in one of the more memorable additions to the gross-out humour pantheon, with the shits in an uptight bridal salon without a toilet.)

She's joined on this downward spiral by the other bridesmaids: Lillian's unhappily married cousin Rita (Wendy McLendon-Covey), Disney Princess-mad Becca (Ellie Kemper), the groom's sister Meghan (Melissa McCarthy) and, most threatening of all, Lillian's new - and very rich - friend Helen (Rose Byrne).

Annie soon finds herself competing for Lillian's friendship, in the face of ever more extravagant gestures by Helen, as her own world crumbles around her.

As Annie's life becomes more fraught, she lashes out in a way that is regrettable but instantly recognisable to anyone who has every said something they wish they could instantly take back. It's a big risk for Wiig, who must frequently teeter on the bring of unlikeable, but she pulls it off effortlessly.

Unlike so many comedies that are ensemble in name only, Bridesmaids' cast is a powerhouse. Wiig and Rudolph's shared comic past serves their interactions well, though it's Annie and Lillian's more muted moments that allow the two actresses to shine. McCarthy's Megan is a brilliant comic creation (don't be fooled by trailers that paint her as little more than the "gross fat chick"), and Byrne finds the bruised soul of Helen, who makes grand gestures only because she doesn't know how else to make friends (a brief interaction with her step-children, who clearly hate her, is as stinging as it is funny).

The blokes are well-repped, too: Chris O'Dowd (from The I.T. Crowd) is lovely as a hangdog police officer who falls for Annie, and the uncredited Hamm is a hoot as the outrageously awful Ted. (Tim Heidecker maniacally beams his way through a non-speaking role as Lillian's betrothed, Dougie.)

What's especially striking about the film, though, is not the breakneck speed at which it unloads comedy gold, but its heart. You see, Bridesmaids is hysterically funny, but it is also terrifically moving; Paul Feig's deft, sympathetic touch as director meshes beautifully with Wiig and Annie Mumolo's script (with all guided by the godlike hand of producer Judd Apatow, who is a natural heir to The Farrely Brothers' crown as sentimental fools).

A scene in which Megan visits Annie, who has been hiding out at her mother's house after disgracing herself, is particularly poignant, thanks in no small part to McCarthy's appealing performance as the wise, self-assured Megan. Annie, drifting into a self-indulgent maw, bemoans her lack of friends, to which Meghan forthrightly responds, "I'm your friend", snapping her out of it. It's a lovely moment.

Bridesmaids is that rare sort of comedic triumph that is never content to rest on its laurels: the characters are multifaceted, even occasionally unpleasant, which only makes you love them more. It has a breezy quality that makes its moments of emotional depth all the more special. There is no "bad guy" in Bridesmaids; everyone is thrashing around the same as the rest, just trying to work out how to live.

It also made me laugh so much I had a coughing fit and saw stars - and I can't remember the last time a film of any "gender" made me do that.

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