Mrs. Doubtfire (Chris Columbus, 1993)

Like so much Hollywood product, Mrs. Doubtfire pushed and pulled me. The pie in the face is truly classic, a savvy variation on an ancient comedy staple. And the climactic restaurant scene in which Robin Williams switches between Daniel and Mrs. Doubtfire generates some genuine (albeit silly) narrative tension. But though I know full well that 1993 was a long time ago (was it, though?), I still bristled at the transphobic, "Oh I'm not really a dude" comments. I admired the fact that a heterosexual couple was not formed at the end of the film. But the effect is severely diminished by Mrs. Doubtfire's closing monologue about how there are all different kinds of families, failing to mention that Heather could have two mommies. Then there's the pathetic portrayal of Daniel's gay brother (Harvey Fierstein) and his boyfriend (Scott Capurro) who exist solely (and with mere minutes of screen time, barely!) to uphold the sanctity of heterosexual marriage. Then there's the demonization of Sally Field as a working mother. And the suggestion that men do better at the housekeeping roles to which women have been relegated. And Columbus' workaday direction. ARGH! Hooray for Hollywood! Grade: C+.