Motherhood

We hear plenty about the trials of motherhood: all those poor women with loving husbands, adorable children, picturesque apartments on Manhattan streets, perfect post-partum figures and Uma Thurman’s face… Maybe I just don’t have a heart to break, but if this is tragedy I’ll take ice cream.

Eliza (Thurman) rattles around, tearing out her hair over such calamities as the goody bag for her kid’s party, the towed car, the absent husband (he’s at work) and – best yet – the pissed-off chum (Minnie Driver) who can’t see why her intimate revelations have turned up on Eliza’s blog. Perhaps the biggest mistake is to have made Eliza a writer: working motherhood is always fraught, but the profession where you open your laptop once the rugrats are out of the way is easier than many.

But frankly, I wouldn’t care if she was at the epicentre of the movement for global peace: she’s a happily married mother who looks like Uma Thurman, and my reserves of sympathy are limited.