Bleecker Street
On the sheer strength of its delightfully dopey poster alone, Mafia Mamma (in theaters Friday), was one of my most anticipated movies of the year. Really, what’s not to appreciate? Toni Collette—the titular Mafia Mamma in question—sits with an impish smirk on her face, sprawled out before a bottle of wine and a smoking gun. She is flanked by two tall, similarly gun-toting men, whose faces are cut off from the artwork. Who cares about them? This is about her: the suburban mom turned mafia don, who seemingly just shot someone dead and is so pleased that she’s celebrating with a glass of vino.
If you, like me, thought that this combination of things would surely result in brilliant cinema—and definitely not an unredeemable disaster that isn’t worth watching—it brings me no pleasure to tell you that you’re wrong. And that’s what makes it so puzzling. Mafia Mamma has all of the right ingredients, but director Catherine Hardwicke treats the complicated science of movie-making like an improvisational linguine dish rather than a delicate tiramisu. If you over-whip one ingredient, or mix two things together at the incorrect time, the sugary sweetness might still pack a small punch, but the consistency will be all wrong. (Or something. I’m not a baker.)
Collette—who is also a producer on the film—stars as Kristin Balbano, a beleaguered working mom who has just shipped her son off to college (homemade trail mix in hand), and found her marriage falling apart as a result. Kristin isn’t taken seriously at her high-level advertising agency or by her philandering husband, and is in desperate need for a change. As if a sign from the cherubic Italian angels, she receives a call from Bianca (Monica Bellucci), a close friend of her grandfather’s, to alert Kristin to his passing. Bianca would love for Kristin to come to Italy for the funeral, and Kristin would love an all-expense-paid vacation.