I-Wish-I-Could-Get-Those-Two-Hours-Back Pie

In "Waitress," an internally feisty diner maid relies on her skill as a masterful creator of apparently "blissful" pies in order to combat her otherwise depressed life. Married to a weakling of an abusive husband, and working under the management of a snarly rodent of a boss, we find Jenna in the first scene having just peed on a plastic stick. Two pink lines. Blah blah blah. So begins the nine-month-long movie.

In a none-too-complex and "what?" inducing plot line, the film finds some success. Keri Russell is darling. Truly, the inconsistent double-negative (southern?) colloquial speak aside, she gives a sassy and credible performance. Far beyond that, however, the single most redeeming quality of this film is Andy Griffith (Andy Griffith?!) as stodgy Old Joe, who provides not only the true comic relief, but also the only out for our darling protagonist. His desire for orange juice without ice is, without question, the single most investing aspect of the plot.

Small successes aside, the film manages to be wholly depressing without inducing any genuine care for the characters. Jenna's husband Earl, played by Jeremy Cisto (Elton from "Clueless"...I liked him better in the 90's), wreaks through the screen of coors light and hot pockets, while Jenna blankly pacifies his need to control her. The film is awkwardly blatant in illustrating this point. He throws things and then kisses her pregnant belly. He tells her he loves her even though she's "fat." He insists that she promise to love him more than the damn fetus. It's disgusting, and yet, instead of palm-to-the-heart, head-shaking disgust for her situation, I instead found myself shaking my head for the bozo who would call this characterization subtle.

The goings-on in the film just don't make sense. I'm getting annoyed just writing about it. She sleeps with her married OBGYN. Upon seeing the baby, Jenna tells off her husband with zero repercussions. The pie metaphors sprinkled throughout resolve with Jenna and daughter Lulu in their diner-turned-pie shop (paid for with funds from a Saint-Peter's-Gates-bound Andy Griffith!) in the same town where she ditched her worthless husband and the well-intentioned Dr. Lover. It's absurd. Quite frankly, I wish Earl would have killed her.

Waitress Pie:
Day-Old Crust
3 c Moldy Blueberries
1 T My Blood
2 c condensed milk
12 c sugar

...Ah, hell, I don't know what else. I want to explain how hateful it all was, but it's not worth my lack of creativity. The only thing that makes it worse is that now I want a slice of something. Or to slice something period. Either way.