Last night, while in line for the preview screening of Juno -- the pregnant-teen comedy by stripper-turned-blogger-turned-screenwriter Diablo Cody -- I was given: one pen made to look like a pregnancy test with the word "Homeskillet!" written on the back; one T-shirt, as depicted in the photo here; and one ticket to the "Junoverse", which informed me that the more preview screenings I saw, the more likely I would get...something cool. I don't know. I threw it out.
These promos might've made a lesser woman flee. I am so sick of little, precious movies. I reached Wes-Anderson-indie-saturation point long ago, and billing yet another film as "smart" and "quirky" is more likely to make me barf than actually see it. But Juno is great. If you can make it past the first few lines of Napoleon-Dynamite-esque non sequiturs -- "Shut your gob, Bananas!" -- you will be rewarded with a film that treats teen pregnancy with compassion, grace and mordant humor.
As I told my viewing companion when we walked out -- it's weird, watching a movie where everyone behaved with the good sense that I hope I'd display in a similar situation.
Ellen Page is wee and fierce, although I had a little trouble with her cast as the dark, hard-rockin' Juno. Seriously, no one with a face that sweet likes Iggy Pop. Period. Michael Cera is also typecast as the sweet, oblivious geek, and steals our hearts yet again -- in fact, I'm trying to think if there was anyone in this movie who DIDN'T steal my heart. Even grumbly J.K. Simmons as gruff Mac MacGuff, Juno's father, made me melt: "Next time I see that Bleeker kid, I'm going to punch him in the wiener."
Does a film where everyone is a good guy and acts like it sound like too much sweetness for the holiday season? Then go back to your cold, dark hole and grouch about it, Mr. Grinch. Juno is the film that Knocked Up could've been, if Judd Apatow was less baffled by women. AND it was written by a former stripper! What more can you ask for?
