Babyfever

This was probably Henry Jaglom's best attempt at mixing documentary with fiction, and it is a truly raw, emotional film essay on the topic of motherhood. While it's not my favorite such experiment from him (that goes to Eating, since I had more of a personal stake in that one), it is certainly the funniest and most eye opening. Unlike Eating or Venice/Venice, this contains a real linear plot that is relatively (for Jaglom) uncluttered. Oh, sure, there are the usual interviews that we're not quite sure are scripted or not, but it doesn't matter whether they are or not because what comes out of the mouths of the "interview subjects" is genuine and relatable.

The film chooses not to take sides on whether or not women should feel like they should have babies, or when they should, or how they should-but it provides lots of evidence from both sides and leaves the viewer to decide for themselves. The heroine of the film is in a pickle because she knows she badly wants to have a baby but is uncertain of the circumstances in which she wants to do it. She spends a lot of time talking with the other women at the baby shower, sometimes even having heated debates with them in scenes that burst with urgency. We care about her, and we feel her uncertainty, and we want things to work out for her, even if we don't see how they can, given the evidence shown in the film.

My only real complaint with the film is the Eric Roberts character, who comes into the picture early on, and is established like he's going to be a major force in the plot, and then he just disappears without much mention. It's possible that this was the director's intention-to show how flaky men can be, but it struck me as being clumsily handled. That quibble aside, I was thoroughly enlightened and entertained by this film, even if it didn't change my mind about having children at all (but, again, it's not intended to be persuasive either way, despite its framing as a documentary). There are so many examples of so many different viewpoints in the various characters that anyone in the audience (particularly women) can find someone to relate to, and hear them voice things we've never shared with anybody, even that we've never admitted to ourselves. Such scenes, whether they are drawn out of the actors by Jaglom through improv or through a written script, are the signs of the gift he has with emotional storytelling.

This is an amazing film - I have seen it about ten times and get more out of it every time I see it. The cast is so believable, it's as if you are sitting in the room with these women and they are reading your mind. One of the most amazing scenes is one in which a woman, who has been trying to get pregnant, sings the most beautiful song about a child to the woman for whom the shower is being held. I cry every time I hear it and I believe the tears in the film are real as well. Victoria Foyt, in addition to being a true beauty, is amazing, not only as an actress but that she wrote this. I highly recommend this to anyone who's clock is ticking, or even if it's not ticking.

Babyfever weaves dialogue, direction and performances into a single fabric, compelling in its illusion of spontaneity and its air of truthfulness. A measure of the film's success is our willingness to watch and listen to these women's expressions of angst, set against the loud ticking of their biological clocks, when so few of the handy features of `feature' films are present: the plot is rudimentary, the photography at best unobstrusive, the editing frequently choppy. It is an object lesson in how substance can sustain in the absence of polished surface.

The impression of vulnerable and searching sensibility communicated by screenwriter Victoria Foyt in her role as Gena, a woman who might not be pregnant by a man she might not love, sets a tone of urgent inquiry that begs our caring. The nail-biting of her Malibu women friends as they gather for a baby shower becomes magically involving. Nuances of opinion replace the customary twists of plot. The eerie verisimilitude of their interactions would make huge copy if it were to happen between name-brand actors in a high-profile film.

Interestingly, perhaps not surprisingly, the only false notes are struck by the intrusion of a few men, where the director sometimes allows a shift in performance style to temporarily break the spell. But neither this, nor Gena's homo ex machina salvation, can erase the impressions left by this assembled multitude of thoughtful, compassionate, woeful, wise or resigned souls.