It’s not odd to love “Bridesmaids.” There are so many show-stopper moments. The late great Jill Clayburgh, revealing she attends AA just for fun, and describing a young man “blow-jobbing for heroin.” Melissa McCarthy shitting in a sink; Maya Rudolph shitting in the middle of a street, in a bridal gown. Kristen Wiig drunkenly calling a flight attendant “Stove,” then asking, “What, are you an appliance?” McCarthy hoisting her leg in the air and whispering about the “steam heat” coming from her “undercarriage.” Rebel Wilson pouring frozen peas on her bloody tattoo (“It’s a Mexican drinking worm!”). And maybe my favorite moment: Wiig crazily lashing out at a high-schooler patron at the jewelry store, suggesting that this young lady has attained her alleged popularity by sucking dicks. (We haven’t even addressed Jon Hamm’s jackhammering sexual rhythms, and the way he seems to puff mechanical gale-force winds into the beleaguered Wiig’s left ear. This movie is rare for having an exceptionally strong first scene, memorable moments in the second act, and then an exceptionally strong *last* scene. It lands a triple axel at the start and at the finish, and it basically does fine throughout.)
The shitting-in-the-sink is so fabulous, you might miss how well-constructed the story is. And so: a few thoughts.
This is a Hero’s Journey. Wiig is jolted out of her ordinary world, in Milwaukee. (That’s another of the movie’s great tricks. In addition to showing women repeatedly speaking to one another about topics that aren’t men, this movie also chooses to show off Milwaukee. Why not?) The summons to the Enchanted World: It’s not hetero romantic woes this time. Instead, the problem is that Maya Rudolph is getting married. Wiig believes she is losing her best friend. She is losing her--specifically--to Rose Byrne, who represents, or seems to represent, a functional adult landscape that Wiig feels shut out of.
Wiig’s character has a couple of options. She could mobilize and become an adult on her own. Or she could regress and create chaos for everyone around her; without thinking, she could become a kind of whirling dervish, a big ugly billboard of pain. For a long while, she opts for choice B. She actually smashes tennis balls into Byrne--into Byrne’s head--over and over and over again. She almost torpedoes an engagement party by getting into a juvenile toast-off with Byrne’s character. (That character--for all of her apparent success--is just as much of a child as Wiig. And that’s one of the movie’s sharper insights.) Wiig throws a tantrum on an airplane--“There is a colonial woman on the wing! She is on the wing and she is churning butter! She is in traditional colonial garb. Who is she and what does she want from us???”--and so Rudolph’s bachelorette party is abruptly canceled. The exciting thing is that you can see Wiig struggling with herself; she would like to be someone other than the person she presently is. (Thus: teary phone call to Rudolph, shrewd self-assessment after “the baking date,” real talk with Mom.)
It takes a Deus ex Machina to bring about change. That particular device is Melissa McCarthy. McCarthy arrives at Wiig’s door with nine puppies and gives a crazy speech about having been bullied in high school. McCarthy was a mess, but then she pulled herself up by her own bootstraps, and now she has access to all of the nation’s nuclear codes. Or something like that. “I’m life!” screams McCarthy, while slapping Wiig’s face. “I’m life, and I’m kicking your ass! And you need to fight! You need to fight back!” Grace note: McCarthy’s message is matched by the song that recurs throughout this movie, a throwback to the mid-nineties: “I know there’s pain. Why do you lock yourself up in these chains? No one can change your life except for you. Don’t ever let anyone step all over you.”
Moved by McCarthy, Wiig can put her own complaints aside. She can be for Rudolph the bridesmaid Rudolph needs. (Rudolph’s unloading, in the penultimate segment, involves financial woes. Dad can’t pay for the wedding. Again, that insight--a rare moment of commentary about money--is something that makes this script stand out from so many others.) Wiig shows up on time for the wedding, wears the dress she is meant to wear, apologizes in a heartfelt way to Rudolph, and makes nice with Byrne. It’s a small triumph. But it’s a triumph, and it represents a significant change in character: It’s the completion of a journey. I’m getting a bit teary as I type.
People changing over time--That’s what a movie needs to show you. It’s extraordinarily difficult to pull off. You get only two hours. With “Mildred Pearce” and “Olive Kitteridge,” directors have recently said, “I actually need four, or six hours, to show persuasive change. I can’t be confined by the demands of movie-making anymore.” But “Bridesmaids” does its job--and does it briskly, with heart. Lest you imagine it’s just a film about shitting in the sink. Enjoy!
The shitting-in-the-sink is so fabulous, you might miss how well-constructed the story is. And so: a few thoughts.
This is a Hero’s Journey. Wiig is jolted out of her ordinary world, in Milwaukee. (That’s another of the movie’s great tricks. In addition to showing women repeatedly speaking to one another about topics that aren’t men, this movie also chooses to show off Milwaukee. Why not?) The summons to the Enchanted World: It’s not hetero romantic woes this time. Instead, the problem is that Maya Rudolph is getting married. Wiig believes she is losing her best friend. She is losing her--specifically--to Rose Byrne, who represents, or seems to represent, a functional adult landscape that Wiig feels shut out of.
Wiig’s character has a couple of options. She could mobilize and become an adult on her own. Or she could regress and create chaos for everyone around her; without thinking, she could become a kind of whirling dervish, a big ugly billboard of pain. For a long while, she opts for choice B. She actually smashes tennis balls into Byrne--into Byrne’s head--over and over and over again. She almost torpedoes an engagement party by getting into a juvenile toast-off with Byrne’s character. (That character--for all of her apparent success--is just as much of a child as Wiig. And that’s one of the movie’s sharper insights.) Wiig throws a tantrum on an airplane--“There is a colonial woman on the wing! She is on the wing and she is churning butter! She is in traditional colonial garb. Who is she and what does she want from us???”--and so Rudolph’s bachelorette party is abruptly canceled. The exciting thing is that you can see Wiig struggling with herself; she would like to be someone other than the person she presently is. (Thus: teary phone call to Rudolph, shrewd self-assessment after “the baking date,” real talk with Mom.)
It takes a Deus ex Machina to bring about change. That particular device is Melissa McCarthy. McCarthy arrives at Wiig’s door with nine puppies and gives a crazy speech about having been bullied in high school. McCarthy was a mess, but then she pulled herself up by her own bootstraps, and now she has access to all of the nation’s nuclear codes. Or something like that. “I’m life!” screams McCarthy, while slapping Wiig’s face. “I’m life, and I’m kicking your ass! And you need to fight! You need to fight back!” Grace note: McCarthy’s message is matched by the song that recurs throughout this movie, a throwback to the mid-nineties: “I know there’s pain. Why do you lock yourself up in these chains? No one can change your life except for you. Don’t ever let anyone step all over you.”
Moved by McCarthy, Wiig can put her own complaints aside. She can be for Rudolph the bridesmaid Rudolph needs. (Rudolph’s unloading, in the penultimate segment, involves financial woes. Dad can’t pay for the wedding. Again, that insight--a rare moment of commentary about money--is something that makes this script stand out from so many others.) Wiig shows up on time for the wedding, wears the dress she is meant to wear, apologizes in a heartfelt way to Rudolph, and makes nice with Byrne. It’s a small triumph. But it’s a triumph, and it represents a significant change in character: It’s the completion of a journey. I’m getting a bit teary as I type.
People changing over time--That’s what a movie needs to show you. It’s extraordinarily difficult to pull off. You get only two hours. With “Mildred Pearce” and “Olive Kitteridge,” directors have recently said, “I actually need four, or six hours, to show persuasive change. I can’t be confined by the demands of movie-making anymore.” But “Bridesmaids” does its job--and does it briskly, with heart. Lest you imagine it’s just a film about shitting in the sink. Enjoy!
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