Toni Collette has no chance of saving this jumble of Mob clichés and female empowerment.
Sweet Tony Soprano, “Mafia Mamma” is bad. And not just disappointingly bad, in the way of late-career James Cameron, or irritatingly puerile, like virtually anything featuring Roberto Benigni. No, “Mafia Mamma” is so wincingly awful it makes you question the professional bona fides of everyone who had a hand in greenlighting its existence.
This probably sounds harsh. But, as someone who has long respected the work of the film’s director, Catherine Hardwicke — whose abilities were evident from the get-go with “Thirteen” (2003) and, five years later, the first and best entry in the “Twilight” troop — I was jarred. A clodhopping farce interrupted by seizures of cartoonish violence, Hardwicke’s latest outing posits that the best distraction from an empty nest and a cheating spouse is to dash to Italy and join the Cosa Nostra.
At least, that’s what Kristin (Toni Collette), a self-effacing California housewife, does when she’s summoned to the Roman funeral of her estranged grandfather, a Mafia don, and learns that she is his designated replacement. Having recently waved her son off to college and surprised her no-count husband in flagrante, Kristin was hoping for — to paraphrase the sage advice of her best friend, played by a delightfully spicy Sophia Nomvete — an eat-pray-fornicate adventure. The first would be easy; the less said about the last, the better.
Trite, charmless and entirely without grace, “Mafia Mamma” weaves a wearying string of Mob chestnuts into a shallow empowerment narrative. Initially enshrining Kristin’s doormat personality — before leaving for Italy, she prepares a selection of Tupperware meals for her faithless husband — the screenplay (by Michael J. Feldman and Debbie Jhoon) soon has her lusting after an airport pickup (Giulio Corso) and attempting coitus with the oily boss of a rival family (Eduardo Scarpetta). Surviving multiple assassination attempts apparently does wonders for the libido.
Vacillating mainly between randy-tourist energy and “Eek! Blood!” reaction shots, Collette — despite a proven gift for comedy — must serve as the sole load-bearing wall in a house of cards. Mouth and eyes agape, Kristin spends much of the movie gasping variations on “Oh my god!,” whether it’s to note the untimely expiration of a prospective lover or to salute a particularly generous plate of pasta. Filmed in Italy with a mostly Italian cast (including Monica Bellucci as a slinky consiglieri), the story stumbles from one tired setup, one ludicrous shootout, one hackneyed line to another. Worse, the filmmakers see no limit to the number of times a flatlining joke can be resuscitated, with running gags on the Godfather movies and the synchronized spitting of Kristin’s cohort whenever her family’s enemies are named.
Warmly photographed by Patrick Murguia, “Mafia Mamma” opens in the aftermath of a slaughter and closes in the vicinity of a courtroom scene of surpassing looniness. By that point, I was surprised only that no one had thought to slide a horse’s head between Kristin’s sheets; maybe the writers had no more oh-my-gods left to give.
Mafia Mamma
Rated R for a violation to the anus and insults to the intelligence. Running time: 1 hour 41 minutes. In theaters.
Source: Movies - nytimes.com
