I haven’t seen a movie that pissed me off this much since UP THE SANDBOX some thirty-five years ago, in which Barbra Streisand flees the abortion clinic to sail off in dreams of sun-dappled babies and shiny happy mothers. Hell, at least there was an abortion clinic–in Waitress the word is too disgusting to be mentioned. For every Lulu’s Pie Shop (in Waitress) there’s a Susan Smith who dumps her kids in the lake, or an Adrienne whatshername who drowns hers in the bathtub. Mostly there’s the great in-between: the abusive or negligent mothers, or the ones–and this is the majority–who get it together to give the kids some semblance of a life but resent them for stealing hers away. Excuse me while I go puke–and I’m not even pregnant. In fact, I had not a day of morning sickness in my life. Just goes to show you–every pregnancy is different. So’s every childbirth story. But very few of them turn out like the one in Waitress.
Waitress: A Fairytale