Ireland’s mothers should count themselves lucky that, thanks to transatlantic differences in the calendar, Garry Marshall’s third “holiday” film – after the awful Valentine’s Day and worse New Year’s Eve – does not actually emerge near Mother’s Day. Having burnt toast dumped down your cleavage during Sorcha’s admirable efforts at breakfast in bed is one thing, but no parent should feel obliged to smile their way through this foul mess of sentimental cliches.
The screenwriters have packed too many atrocities into too small a space for us to even scratch the surface (perhaps, that was the plan). Here’s an attempted breakneck summary: drippy Britt Robertson will not marry her aspiring comic boyfriend (Jack Whitehall, of all people) until she has made peace with an unidentified birth mother.
Julia Roberts, wearing an orange helmet in place of hair, plays a home-shopping host whose melancholy life suggests some youthful trauma (I can’t imagine what, can you?).
Jennifer Aniston plays a mother of two boys who, when her ex-husband marries a bimbo, sinks into a trough of comic despair. How long will it take for her to hook up with the widower (Jason Sudeikis) whose prolonged mourning is damaging his relationship with his two daughters? As long as an hour and a half, apparently?
The worst part of this portmanteau of unpleasantness is the story concerning sisters Kate Hudson and Sarah Chalke. Both are hiding secrets from their racist Texan parents. Kate has married an Indian man and had a child. Sarah married her same-sex partner. Oh no! The parents have turned up unexpectedly in their recreational vehicle.
Where to begin? If the parents and children are so dramatically estranged, what are the hicks doing visiting the progressives at all?
The film seems to think itself awfully modern about romantic relationships, but still plays out in the style of a terrible 1970s sitcom (the sort Marshall wouldn’t have written). When the girls’ dad (Robert Pine) has an accident with his vehicle, he actually says “Hot dang!” and dances in an angry circle. Kate’s mother-in-law is defined by comically heightened Indian traits. Everyone hugs and learns at the end of the episode.
Utterly terrible. No redeeming features. Guests on bitchy panel shows with Whitehall will, mind you, have material to exploit for decades.
