Maybe Baby (2000)

"Maybe Baby" had quite a bit of potential – let me quickly list them off – a cast that is dynamite when it comes to comedy; a story that had the potential to be quite humorous, hysterical in fact; the parody of Danny Boyle could have been blown up considerably – adding to the goofiness of the plot; and finally, let me add, the cast again – Emma Thompson, Rowan Atkinson, Dawn French, and Hugh Laurie are some of the best that Britain has to offer and are typically guaranteed to make anyone in their right mind laugh. This said, why did this film hit the ground at the fastest speed possible thoroughly, and painfully, hurting everyone in it's path. "Maybe Baby" is quite possibly one of the worst films that I have seen this year because it is the biggest disappointment with such potential that I have ever witnessed. Our story is simple to write down, but on screen it is utterly disastrous. The BBC wants to be more cutting edge, Sam and Lucy want children but cannot conceive (does anyone see the humor yet), so we combine the pair. Sam begins writing about his life with his wife, the trials and tribulations of medically attempting to conceive, mixed with funny jokes that somehow only make the cast members laugh. Lucy finds out the truth, Sam grows a beard, and the end – well, is everything one would expect from an American romantic comedy. No surprises. No laughter. No excitement. Overall, I have discovered an American Hollywood film trying to pass as British intelligence. I call it The "Maybe Baby" Conspiracy.I would like to begin this very negative review by saying Joely Richardson is by far one of the worst actresses I have witnessed in film. Maybe I haven't seen enough of her work to make that sort of comment, but after seeing "Maybe Baby", I feel confident in my response. Every scene was nothing but script reading and comic mis-timing. Nothing coming from her mouth seemed worth repeating or re-watching. She played the role of dumb blonde very, embarrassing, well. The scenes in which she has to show emotion was like watching cardboard try to cry, and that is not an over exaggeration. She attempts to show us a relationship with Sam (Hugh Laurie), but instead of a chemical romance, they seem to be enjoying the role of two actors playing a role. There is nothing to evoke emotion between the two of them. I didn't even think they were in "love" by the end of the film, they were a relationship of convenience and comfort. BEWARE! I need to add this about the remainder of the acting because this film may be misleading – Emma Thompson is in it for about three minutes, adding nothing of value or humor to the overall twist of the plot. Rowan Atkinson is a refreshing snack, but like everyone else, adds no meat to the film (it reminded me of Robin Williams in "Nine Months"). Then there is Dawn French – don't get me started here because it remains pitiful and a waste of talent. Coupled with the stagnet portrayals from the surrounding cast it just becomes a very painful moment in cinema as each minute passes.The plot is devastating. With a cliché storyline we already know how it will end and what the characters will be doing/reacting before they probably do, I would hope the typical British wit would resonate strongly with the actor's dialogue. That, alas, is missing from this film. We are bombarded with characters that care nothing about money, are emotionless unless forced to be, and driven by no inner motivation outside of the paycheck. The lyrics to this film are even painful. There were no funny, punny, or laughable moments throughout the course of this film, which irritated me to no end. With such a bold cast, I wanted to be rolling on the floor with hysterics, but alas, nothing happened. The stale emotion translated well into the stale voice being heard from each of the voided characters. I wanted charm, wit, talent, and appeal with this film. I wanted to prove that American dictatorship over film hadn't leaked into the BBC mainstream, but again – I couldn't believe that I was that wrong."Trainspotting" is a film that defined a nation and brought a new wave of cinema into our theaters. I don't think a horrid film like "Maybe Baby" has the right to poke fun at it. I don't mind intelligent hobnobbery, but with this film it was just plain rude to Danny Boyle.Overall, I cannot suggest this film to anyone even the most bland of comedy fans. Remember, if you choose to pick up this vile cinematic sludge, this is pre- "House" days, so do not see Laurie as what we Americans have come to expect from him. "Maybe Baby" is too big for its britches, as it tries to pack too much comedy into a nothingless film – thus transforming the comedy into a forgettable piece of garbage. There was nothing of value in this film, and while director Ben Elton has made his name in "Blackadder", I don't believe he has remembered much of his upbringing. After seeing this film, I would have to advise Elton to avoid working behind the cameras ever again. This was a very big disappointment for me as I had big hopes for this little film with big names.The subtitle for this film should be: Never Judge A DVD By Its Cover.Grade: * out of *****

If you ever get into an argument about whether writers should be allowed to adapt their own books (based on their own life experiences) for the screen - and then get to direct what they have written, then cite this movie as an example as to why it should never be allowed.The basic premise of the movie is fine: a couple cannot conceive. They undergo IVF. He writes a film script based on the experience without telling her, reading her secret diary to get "the woman's angle". She finds out. They separate but are reconciled.Where the film fails (and this is where my argument about letting writers direct comes in) is in the dialogue. The speeches in this thing are so stodgy. So wordy. Everything sounds like it came straight off the page of the book. Everybody talks all the time in well rounded complete paragraphs. Speeches that might read well on the page of a novel will sound clumsy and stilted if acted without some revision, cutting, some paring down. In real life, people just don't talk like they do in books. In real life, people just don't talk like they do in this movie - not even smug rich London media types. There was no natural rhythm to the conversations and I felt really sorry for the actors having to deliver this stuff, and they had to deliver so much of it. The performances suffered as a result. No one was believable in their characters except maybe Adrian Lester, who has a talent for shining out in bad British movies. He shone out again, solely I suspect by virtue of having some of the shortest lines in the whole thing.The music was pretty dreadful too - especially the moment when, abandoned by his wife, Hugh Laurie has to stand there being miserable with Westlife telling us he's miserable on the soundtrack. WE GET THE MESSAGE!Ben Elton is, famously, one of the father figures of the "Alternative Comedy" boom back in the Eighties which lambasted the cosy unreal clichéd world that British comedy had become. It's sad then to see him turn out this bloated unamusing movie which is about as unfunny, and unconnected from reality as any episode Terry and June (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0135736/). It runs for 101 minutes and feels like half that again. The whole movie is about babies, and one thing I do know about babies is they grow up. They become their own people, start to live lives of their own. Elton should have let his baby go. In the hands of a scriptwriter and a director who could step back from the story and take a more objective approach this could have been a really good film.

A very ordinary romantic comedy with very little to redeem it. Main joy in the watching is spotting almost every British comedy actor of the day playing some sort of minor role. Apart from the "ooh look, isn't that . . ." factor there is a very good performance from Joely and Hugh Laurie is his usual sparkling self. However, in the end, the rough and somewhat unsuccessful script just doesn't fill one with enough laughs, thrills and empathy. One most wonder if in fact it is a good idea to write a comedy script about a couple struggling with infertility - perhaps as one of the character's puts it, it isn't very funny after all.

You'd think the couple in Maybe Baby would be happy. They have lots of money, good jobs and a luxurious flat. Plus they're unable to conceive. But for some reason the absence of a tubby parasite fills them with a sense of loss. They want to enrich their lives by creating life, they want to share their love with a long-term sperm and they want to start a family. What a couple of idiots.The most depressing thing about Maybe Baby is the portrayal of marital sex. Is there anything less conducive to producing a trouser tent than talk of eggs and ovulation? And is there anything more soul-destroying than the thought of being reduced to the status of an unthinking, unquestioning sperm-donor? "My egss are done. Screw me," says Richardson's character, as if this is a turn on. Personally, I can't think of anything worse. No longer are these characters having sex out of love, lust or passion, they're screwing with the soul aim of creating a miserable human being that's going to drain them of thousands of pounds, bore them to death with petulant, zit-faced whining and rob them of their sanity, their peace of mind and their faith in humanity. They might as well infect each other with HIV; the long, slow, painful death would be just the same.To further highlight the madness of the characters in this film, Sam (Hugh Laurie) is pleased when he finds out that his sperm in normal. Personally I could find quite a few benefits of having sluggish sperm. Being infertile would mean that you could have sex with your wife without having to wear a cumbersome rubber cock sock and not fear getting a sprog out of the bargain.And how could I ever feel sorry for Lucy (Joely Richardson) when she writes a journal to document her pain? "Keeping a journal certainly has helped me. Whenever I want to cry I just write down my thoughts. The only problem is that when I write down my thoughts I just want to cry." Isn't it a tragedy when smug, middle-class tossers can't conceive? I'm just brimming with sympathy.And to make Lucy an even more hateful figure, she writes things like "I wish Sam could be a little more romantic" while going on about her eggs. Silly tart. And even worse than that, she begins to fall for a taller, darker, more handsome actor that she encounters. And the actor in question is six foot two plank of wood with stubble. This woman deserves a child. She deserves a psychotic hell-spawn with ADHD, Tourette's and chronic explosive diarrhoea.But it gets worse. Unknown to her, her husband is using her horrible diary to write a horrific film script. But is she pleased that her husband is providing her with some much-needed income? Of course she isn't. She's been 'betrayed'. (And of course she finds out about the 'betrayal' by stumbling onto a film set where her husband is working and where the director of the film is mocking their plight. That's a bit of a coincidence, isn't it?) So in light of this, Lucy throws a hissy fit and leaves her husband. Then she shacks up with the actor and conceives. And then she meets her husband again, who's grown his hair long and has acquired a scruffy beard to communicate his inner-turmoil, and he offers to take her back and bring up the child himself! To hell with this disloyal bitch and this pussy-whipped fool! Ah, but this being a romantic comedy, things, of course, end happily. Lucy doesn't have the actor's baby and the couple gets back together so that they can enjoy some more joyless screwing. Woo-hoo! What a fabulous ending.But the whole enterprise is entirely incompetent. The sequence of events described above (the sadness before the not-so surprising happy ending) is merely an attempt to try and inject some tension. Of course, it fails, just as the jokes do. Emma Thompson turns up as some risible dreadlocked pagan half-wit on crack; Dawn French sullies the screen as some 'risqué' nurse who talks about five-knuckle shuffles and Rowan Atkinson talks about bowel movements. Well, okay, Atkinson was actually kind of amusing. But men fainting after giving injections? Arguments about bums? This is comedy so tired that it should just spare us and drop down dead.But there was one thing I liked about the film. There was an idiotic Scottish director who talked about a film he wanted to make. "They inject heroin into their eyeballs. They have babies in toilets. They get AIDS. They kill a social worker. They have anal sex in exchange for heroin, which turns out to be cut with bleach and kills them. They have abortions. They're raped by gangs of English policemen." Now that's a film I'd actually like to see.