I know. Appalling hypocrisy isn’t it? Less than two weeks after committing to never watching this film, I found myself cat-sitting for the parentals with slim pickings on Sky Movies, no energy to get myself off the sofa to the DVD rental place, and a copy of Mamma Mia! on the TV stand. What would you do? Admittedly I could have done any of the following:
a) had a nap,
b) read a book,
c) gouged my eyes out,
but I thought that as someone who aspires to being a bit of a fillum fan, I ought to open my mind, embrace different genres and styles and give it a go. So I did.
I don’t know whether it was because I had spent two days with just cats for company, or whether I was a bit fragile from a bottle of red to myself the night before, but I actually found myself crying. More than once, too. I can’t remember which specific bits I cried at, although I think the ‘Chiquitita’ scene was one, but I was pretty surprised that such a pile of schmaltz reduced me to tears. Actually, now I think of it, it was because the friendship between the three women played by Meryl Streep, Julie Walters and Christine Baranski reminded me of my two best friends and made me miss them and want to go to a beautiful Greek island and frolick in the sun singing Abba songs.
Anyway. Some parts I loathed. Mostly any parts with Pierce Brosnan singing. He’s awful. Also Colin Firth is very hammy and far too heterosexual (thanks to his Mr Darcy phase I reckon) to be anything else. The ‘gay dad’ storyline completely passed me by until right near the end when he snogs the face off some poor young man.
The rest of the film, I’m ashamed to admit, I liked. Not to the point of wanting it on DVD for any birthdays or Christmases, but it was fun, silly and a welcome change to the film noirs I normally find myself watching. Don’t tell anyone I said so though.
Rating: 
