LDS Friendly Movie Review

To: Abbottsville Fourth Ward
From: Sister Millie Loomis, self-appointed ward media critic
Subject: Julie and Julia


I confess I am something of a foodie. It's an obsession born of a desire for provident living paired with a passion for Cool Whip. In fact, much like Julie in the film, I have cooked my way through the Lion House Cookbook, including the challenging Caffeine-free Coca-Cola Pork Loin. So I braved the PG-13 rating, settled into my cushy Cineplex seat and endured the preambles to the movie. First a series of advertisements featuring barely clad models flaunting their privates, then some previews to features that obviously don't contain enough wholesome material to fill out a film trailer. I am baffled by claims that this filth is deemed suitable for general audiences. However, I held my tongue, refrained from loud exhales, and fought the urge to storm out and clobber the manager with my handbag.

At first Julie and Julia drew me in. While I have no desire to set foot in Paris, I admit it appeared charming in the movie. (Filmed in America, no doubt.) Equally charming was the young wife who yearned to stay at home and cook for her husband. (I thought, send over those missionaries!) It was so enchanting that I overlooked the flaws. For example, the ludicrous assumption that French food is superior to ours, or that a happy marriage is rife with tawdry sex, or that Julia Child smoked, drank and ate chocolate.

When the manicotti scene began, I leaned in with interest. (My late husband, Bishop Loomis, used to love my Cheesy Macaroni and Hamburger Bake.) Then while preparing to pack one of the steaming tubes, the sainted icon, Julia Child, casually compared it to a man's -- you know. I practically choked on my Milk Duds. A moral compass like Julia would never refer to such anatomy, much less compare it to something she intended to put in her mouth. But even more alarming was the growing laughter around me. The audience found this funny? They approved? Why was I the only one who didn't get the joke? I became claustrophobic. Perhaps the people in the theater were laughing because they liked to play with their manicottis too. Maybe some were playing with them now, in their seats.

I walked out.

123 minutes long. Rated PG-13, for sleazy marital sex, but should be rated X for an explicit pasta scenario. Language is generally clean, but there is a lot of French spoken. In wide release. (In fact it's so common you can see it on just about any street in town.)


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