Bridesmaids | Film review
A fem-centric spin on the Apatow formula has more than enough to keep you engaged.
Already hailed as the movie that’s broken the glass ceiling on Club Apatow, the fem-centric raunchfest Bridesmaids (written by Wiig and Annie Mumolo) marks enough of a milestone that it would be great to report it’s uproarious from start to finish. It isn’t, although the intermittent hilarity—a brilliantly sustained food-poisoning gag, a frightened-passenger set piece on a plane—and live-wire turns by Wiig and Mike & Molly’s McCarthy are more than enough to keep you engaged.
For a change, economic realities have intruded into the Apatovian universe. Wiig’s Annie has given up on her cakemaking dreams (cue ideological readings) because her bakeshop fell victim to the recession. Now that her childhood friend (Rudolph) is getting married—the fiancé, interestingly, is barely seen—she finds herself competing for alpha-dog status in wedding-planning duties with the obscenely wealthy Helen (Byrne, refreshing in a change-of-pace comic role). The infighting is more fun than the heal-thyself sermonizing, as Annie stops indulging her caddish hookup (Hamm) and romances the local trooper (O’Dowd) who conveniently pulls her over one evening. This therapeutic subplot almost seems like a cop-out in a movie that’s best when breaking glass.