MetaLark Reviews

Persuasion (2007 TV Movie)

Ghastly

[1/10 · 15 January 2008]

I have no idea why they made this version of "Persuasion" when they already had that fine mini-series with Amanda Root and Ciaran Hinds. I suppose that they wanted to make a feature-length version, but of course a lot had to be deleted; alas, what ended up on the cutting-room floor was all the lovely wit and humour, leaving a film that was mere melodrama rather than an amusing exposition of English country manners and mores.

Also, the characters were shallow and uninteresting. They had poor Anne chasing up and down the streets after Captain Wentworth like a silly modern adolescent (and if you happen to be a silly modern adolescent reading this, let me tell you: running after a male like a female in heat is NOT cool). That is something a well-bred woman of the Napoleonic era would never have done, and certainly not this level-headed heroine.

Some have said they found this antic laughable; my reaction was not laughter, but outrage. The very idea of such a corruption of an Austen work is beneath contempt.

It was ghastly.

The Devil Wears Prada (2006)

Froth with a bite

[8/10 · 1 July 2006]

This is a delightful piece of froth; actually it's froth with a bite. The fashion-clueless journalism major gets a job as an assistant to the irascible editor of the world's foremost fashion mag, and finds she must make some tricky ethical decisions--tricky in the sense that there are no obvious right or wrong answers--and she never has much leisure in which to weigh her options. She can't even depend on her friends for advice because they have their own agenda: stop working so hard and spend more time with us.

The shining star in this tale is of course Meryl Streep as the high priestess of the fashion world, Miranda Priestly; her flawless comic timing and wonderful facial expressions had the theater audience chuckling most of the evening. Anne Hathaway turned in a nice acting performance as Andy, the sometimes dowdy, sometimes radiantly beautiful young assistant. Stanley Tucci's putdowns were so nasty they were funny; his role as the artistic director Nigel was a masterpiece in eccentricity. And Emily Blunt gave a fine performance, too, as Andy's reluctant and arrogant mentor.

Certainly worth a mention were the wonderful shots of New York City, especially the night views; one side view from deep in the interior was breathtaking (must have been computer enhanced), and a later birdseye view also was nice. Paris received similar treatment--very lovely.

On the way home from the cinema, my granddaughters and I enjoyed rehashing the action; the dilemmas faced by the heroine provided good fodder for a discussion of right and wrong.

My rating: 8/10

Possession (2002)

Hackneyed and unsubtle lust

[1/10 · 16 May 2003]

Jennifer Ehle was sparkling in "Pride and Prejudice." Jeremy Northam was simply wonderful in "The Winslow Boy." With actors of this caliber, this film had to have a lot going for it. Even those who were critical of the movie spoke of the wonderful sequences involving these two. I was eager to see it.

It is with bitter disappointment, however, that I must report that this flick is a piece of trash. The scenes between Ehle and Northam had no depth or tenderness or real passion; they consisted of hackneyed and unsubtle latter-day cinematic lust--voracious open-mouthed kissing and soft-porn humping. Lust can be entertaining if it's done with originality; this was tasteless and awful.

Ehle and Northam have sullied their craft; they should be ashamed.

As for the modern part of the romance, I was unnerved by the effeminate appearance of the male lead. Aren't there any masculine men left in Hollywood?

The plot was kind of interesting; with a better script and a more imaginative director, it might have worked.

1/10

Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron (2002)

Harmful for kids...

[1/10 · 11 January 2003]

Oh, that parents would check out "children's movies" for content before allowing their kids to see them!

I believe that a person's whole outlook on life can be colored by the books and movies absorbed in childhood. I point to myself as a case in point. Ever since I can remember, I've been ardently conservationist. My parents certainly weren't. None of our neighbors evinced any interest in the subject. And up until recently, I hadn't questioned why I might have deviated from my cultural upbringing to adopt this stance.

But when my sister recalled to me a movie we had seen in our childhood, I looked for and found a VHS copy on the Web: "The Enchanted Forest." Watching it again as an adult, I understood that it was little more than a piece of anti-logging propaganda. The loggers were portrayed as thoughtless, even sadistic, and the gentle old forest hermit was a saintly hero. A light-bulb clicked--aha! There was my formation begun.

Now, this might not be entirely bad; humans need to pay attention to the preservation of their environment, if only to ensure their own survival. And books and movies which help build such realizations can, in spite of the lies, serve an ultimately good purpose.

However, "Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron" propagandizes children in a way that is likely to hurt them eventually. It portrays cruel soldiers of the Union army terrorizing, capturing, and subjugating herds of beautiful wild horses, which are then rescued through the altruistic intervention of the noble Indians. I question the wisdom of forming today's children to despise the military and the white frontiersman. While there have been some sadistic military leaders in American history, and many noble Indians, it's a fact that the good and the bad were far more randomly distributed than this movie would have our children believe. In fact the widespread use of such extreme cases in children's stories can only foment hostility between peoples and lack of respect for the European culture that brought the ideas of personal freedom and--eventually--equal rights to fruition.

In short, this movie is harmful because its thrust is to perpetuate stereotypes about the past to impressionable children, and to build hostility. I believe such hostility will eventually cripple its bearers and targets alike.

If I were rating this film's propaganda effort, I would give it a 9, but since I'm rating its value, it gets the lowest possible mark.

1/10

My Life So Far (1999)

A boy's bittersweet memory of his father

[8/10 · 4 January 2003]

This is a delightful movie. It's based on a man's nostalgic look backward at a slice of his childhood spent on a Scottish country estate in the 1920s. Narrated by the author as a ten-year-old boy, it recounts a period in which both he and his capricious father learn some important lessons about themselves and about each other.

There is little plot to speak of--just life unfolding variously in its sweetness and pain, often tinged with a delicious whimsy. Be warned, though, that much as you may be disposed to like the father, he is a flawed man; his pathetic and childish attitudes are often painfully embarrassing to the viewer. Also, sexual references permeate this film, and there is a strong suggestion that youthful sexual curiosity ought to be given free reign. Parents with a contrary view might wish to give it a look before showing it to their children.

The cinematography is excellent, deftly making the most of the fine Scottish landscape.

But the music--ah! The music is wonderful, from the first folk-tinged strain, through Beethoven and Saint-Saëns, to the Louis Armstrong ending. Few films are so musically satisfying.

The role of the childish and inarticulate father, Edward Pettigrew, is nicely developed by Colin Firth. Rosemary Harris is his aristocratic, but good-natured mother-in-law, who actually owns the estate inhabited by her daughter and Edward and their progeny; Harris handles her part with great understanding and humour. The children are natural and believable, and the servants are well-picked and quirky--their kitchen conversations add much warmth to this work.

For me, the ending credits revealed a lovely surprise: that the reflections of the boy, Fraser Pettigrew, actually come from a memoir written by Sir Denis Forman. I know that name well; Forman is also the author of my favorite opera guide, a cleverly designed, but funny and irreverent book appropriately titled, "The Good Opera Guide." (But don't be put off by the U.S. title, "A Night at the Opera"; it's a wonderful book by any name.)

Small wonder, then, that this movie has such a fine soundtrack.

Rating: 8 for the movie, 10 for the opera book.

The Way We Live Now (2001)

Doomed by casting errors

[4/10 · 9 July 2002]

Admiration for the abilities of screenwriter Andrew Davies led me to watch this miniseries. However, I'd have to call this a wasted effort on his part. Not having read the Trollope work on which it is based, nor having any desire to read it after viewing this film version, I can't say whether it is faithful to the original. But the main characters were generally too bizarre and unlikable for my taste, and two of the casting decisions--the parts of Paul Montague and Mrs. Hurtle--were positively grotesque.

Paul Montague, the apparent hero of the piece, was supposed to be an American engineer, a person of some experience and expertise; no doubt the role called for a youngish man unaccustomed to smoky business dens, but this actor made him look like a fresh-faced adolescent--it's asking too much to suppose he could be believable in such a role. And trust me, no normal woman would fall in love with a character so effeminate--that's preposterous.

And--bless my soul--Mrs. Hurtle; at first I was intrigued, thinking she was supposed to be a woman POSING as an American southern belle, a suspicious character in fact. I was astounded when it became apparent that she REALLY was supposed to be from the South; her accent was truly appalling, a caricature. A southern accent is generally so easy to mimic, it seems as though they must have searched hard for someone who couldn't do it. It was so gawd-awful that I still awaken sometimes in the middle of the night with her belabored diphthongs echoing in my nightmares.

If these two mistakes had been less glaring, it is possible that the strangeness of the Melmotte characters might have been more tolerable. They certainly were interesting, and very well acted by David Suchet and Shirley Henderson. The latter has a particular gift for playing neurotic women, but she also was able to endow Marie Melmotte with some sweetness, and in the end, some sympathetic traits.

4/10

Gosford Park (2001)

A Dagwood Sandwich

[6/10 · 9 July 2002]

I found myself wondering about halfway through, "Can the '30s British uppercrust have been quite this vacuous, stupid, and boring? Can their servants have been quite so smart, sensible, and superior to their employers? I doubt it." I fancy the upper classes of that time were fairly erudite and educated, though of course there were some fools and freeloaders, as there were--and are--at every level of society. Nevertheless it was an absorbing and amusing movie--no plot to speak of, no denouement, more like a Dagwood sandwich--mustard on the bottom, mayonnaise on the top, slices of ham, pickles, ripe (very ripe) tomatoes, cheeses, baloney, and lettuce (as in, not enough). It was seasoned nicely with humor, irony, pathos, naughtiness, and passion.

I suspect the mechanics of servicing a large house party were portrayed accurately; these scenes rang true, and were quite fascinating in fact. Some of the direction was nothing short of amazing. The shot of the lone butler holding an umbrella at the end of the opening scene--that was a small story in itself. And wasn't it brilliant how the second car just slid into view from around a curve and refocused your attention elsewhere. In fact this sort of thing kept happening throughout the film--you'd be following a line of thought, only to have it nudged away by another.

Some would not care for this kind of disjointed story, but I found I could tolerate it quite well. The cinematography was excellent. The actors were well-cast and really superb. I recognized the lovely Kelly MacDonald not so much by her face as by her lyrical Scottish burr, which was so arresting in "My Life So Far."

This could have been a great film had the social viewpoint been more balanced and realistic, but then perhaps ridiculing Western culture was the whole point--I don't know enough about the writers and director to say.

I would recommend this to persons who delight in nuance and subtlety. Just don't go in expecting a whodunnit. Also, if you're an American, you'd best turn on the subtitles--the English diction is daunting.

6/10

A Thousand Acres (1997)

Feminist Tripe

[3/10 · 9 July 2002]

**** Possible Spoiler ****

If you were making a serious movie involving a powerful, but aging father with three apparently ungrateful daughters, featuring actors of the highest caliber, with great cinematography and a beautiful Midwestern setting, now where would you go with it? Why, you'd fashion a modern tragedy after "King Lear" of course.

That's what I was expecting. That certainly wasn't what I got. What I got was 105 minutes of feminist tripe--one long harangue about man's inhumanity to woman. Why, there wasn't a decent male in the entire story.

You see early on where this film might be headed, but you can't believe anyone would waste all these fine actors and craftsmen on that trite scenario--you just want them to get on with the King Lear theme. But it never happens; and there's the real tragedy if you ask me.

Aside from the panorama of glorious rural heartland, about the only thing worth watching in this film was that wonderful chameleon, British actor Colin Firth, practicing his Midwestern accent. Now there was a treat.

3/10

Greenfingers (2000)

Joy of Germination

[7/10 · 18 June 2002]

I have a couple of cynical kin who sometimes go to the video rental store and select a movie solely because there are only one or two copies on the shelf. Their reasoning: wildly popular movies usually reflect the crass, Hollywood-dictated tastes of the ignorant masses, while a single- or double-copy film has had enough of a following to be recognized as worthwhile, but not enough to be awful. (Hey, don't blame me--I'm just quoting my nutty relatives.) But you know what? More often than not they bring home a charmer.

"Greenfingers" is such a one. British convicts in an experimental prison discover the joy of creating a beautiful garden. There are some painful setbacks and some delicious triumphs, mixed in with some lust here, some romance there--come to think of it, a kind of human garden. The characters are quirky and endearing, the situations amusing, the presentation economical. The cinematography is good, too; the opening scene could be entitled, "A Thousand Words," for what it's worth.

I particularly salute the courage of those who dared to people a movie with a warden who wasn't sadistic, a celebrated and haughty VIP who wasn't hateful, and well-behaved prisoners who got a break. (Next thing you know, they'll be making movies involving Christians who aren't hypocrites, parents who aren't fools, conservative legislators who aren't racists, and corporation execs who are just about as honest as the rest of us.)

(Naah--never happen.)

See this movie; unless you are an action junkie or a confirmed curmudgeon, it will make you smile and be glad.

7/10

Susan Slept Here (1954)

Pert actress, amusing dialogue, lame story

[4/10 · 15 June 2002]

This frothy romantic comedy is based on the kind of story I loved as a teenager, but now find rather distasteful. In the case of May-September attachments, doubtless what is on the mind of the elder party is either lust, or an inability to face the reality of aging, or both. And the younger is most likely looking for the kind parent that she (or he) lacked as a child. These underlying agendas seem more pathetic than romantic to me now; there is also something rather predatory about them.

Dick Powell looked a bit embarrassed--as well he should--at playing the elder lover in this silly story. He was, at fifty, attempting the role of a thirty-eight-year-old man romancing a teen-ager. But young Debbie Reynolds was a knockout--pretty and saucy and full of vinegar--as a misbehaving seventeen-year-old presented as a kind of "gift" to the morally upright and honest screenwriter, as a subject for him to study. Her spirited performance wrung from me a better rating than this film would otherwise deserve. Anne Francis was cast as Powell's beautiful, but brittle fiancée, and handled her small role deftly.

Some of the dialogue was quite amusing, too, so it's not a total washout.

5/10

You Never Can Tell (1951)

Pretty Doggone Good

[6/10 · 24 January 2002]

I first saw this low-budget black-and-white film at the age of fourteen, promptly forgot the forgettable title, but never forgot the premise or the wonderfully waggish Dick Powell. Now, many years later I've remembered the title and managed to obtain a VHS copy from an online auction house, and as an adult in pretty good standing, I can report that it's still rather delightful.

The premise: "King," a German shepherd dog, inherits a fortune, is poisoned by a heartless villain, and his spirit is taken up to "Beastatory." There he asks for a chance to return to earth as a "humanimal" in order to clear up the circumstances surrounding his own death. His request is granted, and he is installed in a Film Noir-ish office as a salty private eye with the whimsical name of Rex Shepherd, accompanied by a Kentucky thoroughbred filly as his secretary Goldie (Joyce Holden).

The casting is exquisite. Dick Powell, though really quite a nice-looking actor, always struck me as having a slightly canine look; I believe he succeeded so well in private-eye roles partly because of the perception that he would doggedly "sniff out" the truth. The next-in-line heiress (Peggy Dow) is pretty and wholesome. The butler and the housekeeper are suspiciously sinister. The heiress's boyfriend is suspiciously affable. And a host of minor characters bear traces of resemblance to various breeds of dogs.

The whole family, from about eight years up, can enjoy this film on different levels. But you'd best like corn, and I don't mean popped.

6/10

Wit (2001 TV Movie)

Tough character, tough actress

[9/10 · 22 January 2002]

This is a story of a tough university professor (Emma Thompson) who is diagnosed with metastatic ovarian cancer. She chooses to take an experimental series of radical chemotherapy treatments, and we get to watch her deal with the pain and sickness and degeneration and indignity of all that this entails, while struggling to maintain her identity and sense of humour. Strange to say, it is NOT depressing.

I had been somewhat wary approaching this film, afraid it might contain the usual Hollywood drivel--perhaps a tear-jerking emotional pitch for assisted suicide. But, not to worry--there's no agenda here but plain old-fashioned down-to-earth human hope.

Emma Thompson's performance is powerful and masterful; I can't remember a better acting job ever. She simply takes one's breath away--literally; at the end, I was almost afraid to breathe. I sat silent and rapt, as though holding before me a piece of fine crystal, crystal so fragile that it might shatter if I spoke aloud. I wanted to whisper my sentiments at least, but all words seemed profane.

Every member of the cast is marvelous. The musical score is unusual and arresting, and perfectly attuned to the action. This is unquestionably another tour de force for seventy-year-old director Mike Nichols.

I've been wrestling with the task of assigning it a rating. It seems a rank injustice to give it less than a 10--since it is such a perfect masterpiece--yet it is not really "entertainment," not a movie one would choose to watch again and again. Indeed, I've finally marked it a 9, but I'm not entirely satisfied with that decision.

9/10

Moulin Rouge! (2001)

A fantasia of sight and sound

[5/10 · 8 January 2002]

This movie was interesting to me and possessed a kind of quixotic charm, once I had got used to the frenetic noise and motion. It's very original and a hard film to classify, lying somewhere between a cartoon and an opera. Some of the music--cribbed from diverse sources--is very beautiful, particularly a rendering of "The Show Must Go On" by the character Harold Zidler (Jim Broadbent) and a chorus of seamstresses.

The introductory musical theme--based on "Nature Boy" from an old movie "The Boy With the Green Hair"--is a haunting and unforgettable melody made popular by Nat "King" Cole in the late 1940s. "Moulin Rouge" seems to want to pursue some obscure parallel with that earlier film by the use of green lighting on Christian's (Ewan McGregor's) own hair during one of the reprises, though I'm bound to say I couldn't detect much similarity between the two characters. (I watched it a second time to see whether there were any other such allusions, but if so, they were over my head.)

Nicole Kidman does a fine acting job. She is an exquisitely beautiful "Satine" and shows great courage, if perhaps not the best judgment, in singing her own songs. But that's okay; the movie is, after all, a celebration of "truth" (and better this than the abomination of Eliza Doolittle's dubbing). McGregor's singing voice, on the other hand, is a most pleasant surprise--somebody, give him a Grammy or something.

If you can overlook the noise and the freaked-out kinetics, and you don't require realism in effects or story, you might just like this flick very much. It offers two beautiful protagonists, some comic touches, and lots of heart. It's worth a look, and better the second time around.

5/10

The English Patient (1996)

Pretty scenery

[3/10 · 8 January 2002]

This pretentious tale of an adulterous affair leaves me cold. I am not diverted by the antics of characters who can't control their rutting instincts; if I want that, I can just go down to my uncle's farm and watch the pigs in heat.

Pretty scenery, though.

3/10

Mansfield Park (1999)

More Daphne du Maurier than Jane Austen

[5/10 · 6 December 2001]

I enjoyed this adaptation of "Mansfield Park" because of the interesting plot and the pert actress who played Fanny Price. But this movie was riddled with flaws. The script had been pretty much de-Austenized; I can't recall any witty lines--perhaps there were none. Much of the costuming, though reminiscent of the Regency period, seemed inauthentic somehow, especially Mary Crawford's black dress with lacy sleeves--it looked like something off the rack in Macy's evening wear. The music was loud, irritating, persistent, and oppressive, and it didn't fit the mood or the action. The camera's repeated zooming into too-close head shots was bizarre and uncalled for. And the aura of sexual perversion was alien to the Austen genre; in fact this brooding film seemed rather more Daphne du Maurier than Jane Austen.

If you are not offended by such bastardizations, by all means see the movie. Frances O'Connor is saucy and pretty. It's worth a watch.

5/10

Bridget Jones's Diary (2001)

U.S. GDP falls sharply due to Bridget Jones

[9/10 · 25 November 2001]

The U.S. Gross Domestic Product fell 0.4% during the period ending Sept 30, 2001; a good deal of this can be attributed, I believe, to those of us ostensibly normal, usually productive women who have become obsessed--yes, obsessed!--with "Bridget Jones's Diary." I myself watch this flick at least once a week--let's see, that's 97 minutes multiplied by 52 weeks--84 hours a year--an entire two-week vacation, and that's not counting the time we spend thinking about it, and talking about it, and writing about it. If our husband's snoring wakes us in the middle of the night, we just hop out of bed and go watch the culminating KISS, or perhaps even the entire video; when this happens, we barely can function the next day at work. Our productivity is falling like the Leonid meteors.

What is wrong with us?! Maybe it's that we can't deal with the terrorist crisis and must find a means of escape. If so, this little darling of a movie is perfect escapist fare for silly, romantic women like us.

Here we have Bridget Jones--our alter ego--encountering our perfect hero--a man who's "moral and noble and normal...and helpful in the kitchen." And after many misunderstandings and missteps, at last he clasps us in his arms and bestows on us--um, I meant on HER--the most perfect, exquisite series of kisses in movie history. Omigosh! They're not your standard slobbery, predatory kisses of a male motivated by lust, but the tender and ardent kisses of a man fired by true love.

So we crawl back into bed with our husbands, our own true lovers--who are starting to look better and better to us in our altered state of being--resulting in more lost sleep all 'round, and now our poor husbands' job productivity is affected as well.

This film is practically subversive. Let's just hope the FBI doesn't find out about it.

Notting Hill (1999)

One amusing quip in two hours

[1/10 · 19 November 2001]

It is not enough to populate a film with beautiful and talented actors; a good script is wanted above all. "Notting Hill" fails the script test.

I had tried once before to watch this movie, but had abandoned the attempt early on, when it became apparent that the female lead possessed neither cleverness nor goodness, nor indeed any virtue to speak of. I could see no basis for the hero's infatuation with a woman who did nothing but occupy space on the screen. But I forced myself to persevere in a second viewing for two reasons: 1) I'd recently heard an amusing quote (concerning actor Mel Gibson) from a later scene, so figured I might have given up on it before the good part started; and 2) I had not been much impressed with another Richard Curtis screenplay--"Bridget Jones's Diary"--on the first viewing, but had completely reversed my estimate after seeing it a second time--so perhaps "Notting Hill" was another such one.

Alas, the Mel Gibson crack was the only funny line in the entire flick. And aside from pretty faces and physiques, was there anything to be found in the protagonists to justify their interest in each other? The Julia Roberts character displayed nothing but beauty, stardom, and wealth, and appeared to exist in a gently-smiling vacuous state most of the time; in the one scene where she came alive, it was only to display an ungracious temper--quite a nasty piece of business really. The Hugh Grant character was marginally more sympathetic, but basically insipid.

The plot movement was slow and unconnected, with little sense of development.

Hugh Grant is of course past master at portraying the awkwardly shy Brit twit--give him credit there--but the writing was so shallow that no mere actor could have rescued it.

Don't bother with this one unless you're an MTV fan, i.e., you just like to pass time in front of a screen.

1/10

Fargo (1996)

A morality play

[9/10 · 31 October 2001]

This is a violent movie; still I am inclined to call it a minor masterpiece. Many viewers disdain violence in movies without making any effort to distinguish the ways in which violence may figure in a story. Deplore, if you like, those movies which seek to portray violence for its own sake, or for titillation, or for money; but know that "Fargo" is not one of these. Rather it has the feel of a Medieval morality play (with a Medieval style musical score, if you needed a hint), wherein the evil-doers suffer the consequences of their actions, and those consequences occur on more levels than meet the eye.

Also, know that the criminals are presented in a very unflattering light, are seen for what they are--creepy Neanderthals. The big blond guy, Grimsrud, is sub-human. At the end, the endearing and good-hearted woman sheriff makes a statement to him (and to us) about how his evil actions, even had they succeeded, had gained him nothing of lasting value. In her soliloquy she compares blood money with the value of the joy of an innocent heart ("and it's a beautiful day"), but he doesn't even know what she is talking about. She is speaking to an empty shell--immoral behavior has left him with a soul so shrunken and shriveled that he can't comprehend or appreciate beauty on any level.

Oh, this is a little gem of a movie! Its touches of macabre humor--the not-quite-growls of the fearsome father-in-law, the sullen son's musical idol, the unedifying conversation of the killers, the bouncing pony tail on the enthusiastic young prostitute, the TV drama watched by the Neanderthal--provide just the right contrast to the violence. The cinematography and acting are uniformly wonderful. It is indeed a pity that this one lost out to the incredibly inane "English Patient" for the Oscar; it would be unbelievable if we didn't know Hollywood so well.

If you deplore wicked behavior, but enjoy wicked satire, see this movie. (But if you are an adolescent male, don't bother--this one's not for you.)

Rating: 9/10

Bridget Jones's Diary (2001)

Not a hardcore chick-flick

[9/10 · 30 October 2001]

Speaking as one familiar with "Pride and Prejudice"--the book and the 1995 miniseries upon which this work is loosely based--I like this spunky little movie exceedingly well, just as it is. Do not be put off by superficial comparisons to "Four Weddings and a Funeral" and "Notting Hill," both shallow and pretentious movies memorable only for one fine eulogy and some physically beautiful protagonists. "Bridget Jones's Diary" is more.

Bridget Jones is, as its soundtrack suggests, "Everywoman." Every woman who has ever fumbled for words, fallen on her face, been embarrassed by her mother, chosen her underwear carefully, picked a cad for a boyfriend--whether she's a thirty-something singleton or a sixty-something grandma--can identify with Bridget on some level. You can't help pulling for her. Cheering her on is cheering yourself on.

But this chick-flick is not hardcore; it has a broad sense of humor. Male viewers have been caught in the act--smirking. There is even a fistfight to warm insensitive martial hearts. A couple of famous people make appearances here, too--one with a million-dollar price on his head--Salman Rushdie, who plays himself in a wryly irreverent little sequence.

It's easy to miss the movie's charm on the first screening--some very good lines are swallowed at the ends; the gratuitous profanity, casual sex, prodigious smoking and drinking are turn-offs; the heroine is an awkward, fleshy woman with reprehensible fashion taste, and one may easily posit that she ended up with an unsuitable and unlikely mate.

But I contend, after a second viewing, that this movie is a little gem. There is a wonderful economy in the editing; every scene, every action tends toward only one possible conclusion, a PERFECT conclusion. And the childhood clips in the ending credits give credence to that conclusion and provide support for it--which is that the hero and heroine are made for each other.

I rate it a solid 9 (with a 10 for the BBC/1995 "Pride and Prejudice").

* * * * S P O I L E R S A H E A D * * * *

At first glance, Miss Jones seems stupid and inept and the last woman in the world one would pick for the intelligent and successful Mr. Darcy. But consider this: Darcy already had "a clever wife" before--bliss must needs be sought elsewhere. Besides, Bridget, though somewhat gauche, is not unintelligent, as evidenced by her voiceovers and some of her sallies. But most of all this: Each has something the other needs--he is steady and reliable, she possesses liveliness and warmth. Notice the wistful look on Darcy's face as he watches Bridget and Cleaver cavorting on the river. He WANTS some nonsense and indecorum in his life--needs them; she would be his savior. Imagine Darcy's life if he had settled on the competent but priggish Natasha--both parties would have stagnated. Imagine if Bridget had surrendered to the charms of a Daniel Cleaver--fun for the nonce, but misery for the long haul.

No, this ending is perfect in every way, down to the last delightful epithet uttered by an aroused Darcy. And oh yes, the kiss--very promising indeed; at once tender and ardent, it leaves one with the distinct impression that Darcy will be something more than "helpful in the kitchen."