The paper-thin plot of this movie revolves around working mother Kate, juggling her way through life. It sounds dull and more appropriate for a sit-com – and definitely would be. I read that the script is based on a novel, which I am determined to ignore, especially after having seen the The paper-thin plot of this movie revolves around working mother Kate, juggling her way through life. It sounds dull and more appropriate for a sit-com – and definitely would be. I read that the script is based on a novel, which I am determined to ignore, especially after having seen the movie.

Kate is played by SJP, an actress who could easily be described as the female Tom Hanks – albeit slightly less talented. Her likability is enormous, but unfortunately her choice of roles very limited; in her repertoire there are only comedies, most of them remarkable failures at the box office. Her sidekicks in this movie are Greg Kinnear and Pierce Brosnan, two good actors with a wider range, who play respectively her husband and a business associate. One wishes there was more of them on screen. Unfortunately we get plenty of SJP and of her friend played by Christina Hendricks. It could have been any other actress playing second fiddle to SJP, as poor Christina is used only to enunciate a string of questionable statements.

For a comedy there are very few laughers. Actually, none at all from me. The punch lines sounded tired and unfunny and the «real life» situations abused and stale: what about an envious colleague who would like to steal your glory? Or a supportive best friend with a lousy love life? Not to mention the neglected husband. All seen in a million other comedies, most of them better than this one.

The problem with this, and an increasingly larger number of movies, is that they are targeted to a very restricted public. This one is targeted strictly to 1) working mothers with young children, and 2) die-hard fans of SJP. I doubt anybody else will find it even mildly amusing, as it does not work at all as a comedy. Indeed, in the cinema where I saw it, even if the audience was mostly female, only a woman in her mid-thirties laughed out loud.

Besides, SJP starts to get a bit old for this type of role and her constant touching her hair drove me almost crazy. I wanted to shout: «Just cut it if it bothers you so much!». She used to have gorgeous hair, but even that is growing thin and limpy. … Expand

I don t know how she does it

I Don’t Know How She Does It

juggle: v. & n. v. 1 intr. perform feats of dexterity, esp. by tossing objects in the air and catching them, keeping several in the air at the same time. 2 tr. continue to deal with (several activities) at once, esp. with ingenuity. 3 intr. & tr. (foll. by with) a deceive or cheat. b misrepresent (facts). c rearrange adroitly. n. 1 a piece of juggling. 2 a fraud.

MONDAY, 1:37 A.M. How did I get here? Can someone please tell me that? Not in this kitchen, I mean in this life. It is the morning of the school carol concert and I am hitting mince pies. No, let us be quite clear about this, I am distressing mince pies, an altogether more demanding and subtle process.

Discarding the Sainsbury luxury packaging, I winkle the pies out of their pleated foil cups, place them on a chopping board and bring down a rolling pin on their blameless floury faces. This is not as easy as it sounds, believe me. Hit the pies too hard and they drop a kind of fat-lady curtsy, skirts of pastry bulging out at the sides, and the fruit starts to ooze. But with a firm downward motion — imagine enough pressure to crush a small beetle — you can start a crumbly little landslide, giving the pastry a pleasing homemade appearance. And homemade is what I’m after here. Home is where the heart is. Home is where the good mother is, baking for her children.

All this trouble because of a letter Emily brought back from school ten days ago, now stuck on the fridge with a Tinky Winky magnet, asking if “parents could please make a voluntary contribution of appropriate festive refreshments” for the Christmas party they always put on after the carols. The note is printed in berry red and at the bottom, next to Miss Empson’s signature, there is a snowman wearing a mortarboard and a shy grin. But do not be deceived by the strenuous tone of informality or the outbreak of chummy exclamation marks. Oh, no. Notes from school are written in code, a code buried so cunningly in the text that it could only be deciphered at Bletchley Park or by guilty women in the advanced stages of sleep deprivation.

Take that word “parents,” for example. When they write “parents” what they really mean, what they still mean, is mothers. (Has a father who has a wife on the premises ever read a note from school? Technically, it’s not impossible, I suppose, but the note will have been a party invitation and, furthermore, it will have been an invitation to a party that has taken place at least ten days earlier.) And “voluntary”? “Voluntary” is teacher-speak for “On pain of death and/or your child failing to gain a place at the senior school of your choice.” As for “appropriate festive refreshments,” these are definitely not something bought by a lazy cheat in a supermarket.

How do I know that? Because I still recall the look my own mother exchanged with Mrs. Frieda Davies in 1974, when a small boy in a dusty green parka approached the altar at Harvest Festival with two tins of Libby’s cling peaches in a shoe box. The look was unforgettable. It said, What kind of sorry slattern has popped down to the Spar on the corner to celebrate God’s bounty when what the good Lord clearly requires is a fruit medley in a basket with cellophane wrap? Or a plaited bread? Frieda Davies’s bread, maneuvered the length of the church by her twins, was plaited as thickly as the tresses of a Rhinemaiden.

“You see, Katharine,” Mrs. Davies explained later, doing that disapproving upsneeze thing with her sinuses over teacakes, “there are mothers who make an effort like your mum and me. And then you get the type of person who”—prolonged sniff—“don’t make the effort.”

Of course I knew who they were: Women Who Cut Corners. Even back in 1974, the dirty word had started to spread about mothers who went out to work. Females who wore trouser suits and even, it was alleged, allowed their children to watch television while it was still light. Rumors of neglect clung to these creatures like dust to their pelmets.

So before I was really old enough to understand what being a woman meant, I already understood that the world of women was divided in two: there were proper mothers, self-sacrificing bakers of apple pies and well-scrubbed invigilators of the washtub, and there were the other sort. At the age of thirty-five, I know precisely which kind I am, and I suppose that’s what I’m doing here in the small hours of the thirteenth of December, hitting mince pies with a rolling pin till they look like something mother-made. Women used to have time to make mince pies and had to fake orgasms. Now we can manage the orgasms, but we have to fake the mince pies. And they call this progress.

“Damn. Damn. Where has Paula hidden the sieve?”

“Kate, what do you think you’re doing? It’s two o’clock in the morning!”

Richard is standing in the kitchen doorway, wincing at the light. Rich with his Jermyn Street pajamas, washed and tumbled to Babygro bobbliness. Rich with his acres of English reasonableness and his fraying kindness. Slow Richard, my American colleague Candy calls him, because work at his ethical architecture firm has slowed almost to a standstill, and it takes him half an hour to take the bin out and he’s always telling me to slow down.

“Slow down, Katie, you’re like that funfair ride. What’s it called? The one where the screaming people stick to the side so long as the damn thing keeps spinning?”

“I know that. I meant what’s the ride called?”

“No idea. Wall of Death?”

I can see his point. I’m not so far gone that I can’t grasp there has to be more to life than forging pastries at midnight. And tiredness. Deep-sea-diver tiredness, voyage-to-the-bottom-of-fatigue tiredness; I’ve never really come up from it since Emily was born, to be honest. Five years of walking round in a lead suit of sleeplessness. But what’s the alternative? Go in to school this afternoon and brazen it out, slam a box of Sainsbury’s finest down on the table of festive offerings? Then, to the Mummy Who’s Never There and the Mummy Who Shouts, Emily can add the Mummy Who Didn’t Make an Effort. Twenty years from now, when my daughter is arrested in the grounds of Buckingham Palace for attempting to kidnap the king, a criminal psychologist will appear on the news and say, “Friends trace the start of Emily Shattock’s mental problems to a school carol concert where her mother, a shadowy presence in her life, humiliated her in front of her classmates.”

“I need the sieve, Richard.”

“So I can cover the mince pies with icing sugar.”

“Because they are too evenly colored, and everyone at school will know I haven’t made them myself, that’s why.”

Richard blinks slowly, like Stan Laurel taking in another fine mess. “Not why icing sugar, why cooking? Katie, are you mad? You only got back from the States three hours ago. No one expects you to produce anything for the carol concert.”

“Well, I expect me to.” The anger in my voice takes me by surprise and I notice Richard flinch. “So, where has Paula hidden the sodding sieve?”

Rich looks older suddenly. The frown line, once an amused exclamation mark between my husband’s eyebrows, has deepened and widened without my noticing into a five-bar gate. My lovely funny Richard, who once looked at me as Dennis Quaid looked at Ellen Barkin in The Big Easy and now, thirteen years into an equal, mutually supportive partnership, looks at me the way a smoking beagle looks at a medical researcher — aware that such experiments may need to be conducted for the sake of human progress but still somehow pleading for release.

Я не знаю, как она делает это / I Don’t Know How She Does It (2011) HDRip

Год выхода: 2011
Жанр: Комедия
Производство: США
Перевод: Профессиональный (дублированный) [Лицензия]
Продолжительность: 01:29:28
Режиссер: Дуглас МакГрат / Douglas McGrath
В ролях: Сара Джессика Паркер, Пирс Броснан, Грег Киннер, Кристина Хендрикс, Келси Грэммер, Сет Майерс, Оливия Манн, Джейн Куртин, Марк Блум, Бизи Филиппс

Сюжет картины Я не знаю, как она делает это рассказывает о девушке по имени Кейт, она фондовый менеджер и мать двоих детей. Она отличается от тех людей, которые могут делать всего два дела одновременно, ведь она может делать их сразу сотню: менять пеленки, продавать и покупать акции, выяснять отношения с мужем, отбиваться от тупого босса и много чего еще. Всю её жизнь можно охарактеризовать как череду забавных, глупых, ситуаций, в которые она постоянно попадает в попытках втиснуть две жизни в одну. Это просто замечательная комедия, которая позволит многим женщинам пересмотреть все свои жизненные преоритеты и, возможно, занятся чем-то более важным в жизни, а мужчины задумаются над своими половинками и станут иначе на них смотреть.
»Качество: HDRip
»Видео: 688×384 (1.79:1), 23.976 fps, XviD build 50

1864 kbps avg, 0.29 bit/pixel
»Звук: 48 kHz, AC3 Dolby Digital, 3/2 (L,C,R,l,r) + LFE ch,

448.00 kbps avg
»Субтитры: Нет

I Don T Know How She Does It

Allison Pearson

21 января 2021 г. 18:19

Но может она все-таки сможет сделать выбор? Ведь нельзя же жить двумя жизни, ведь какая это жизнь та!

1 декабря 2020 г. 15:53

4 Занимательно и грустно

Рыжий эксперт Лайвлиба

21 мая 2020 г. 12:50

Уже начав читать эту книгу, поняла, что давным-давно смотрела фильм. Как оказалось я совсем не помнила фильм, лишь какие-то мелкие моменты. И, наверно, именно этот факт позволил мне насладиться книгой. Читается она очень быстро и легко. И тема, которая в ней поднимается, не могла обойти меня стороной, ведь я сама мать двухлетнего сына.

13 апреля 2020 г. 23:13

3 Нехорошая квартира

Книгу я прочла быстро, но никак не могла понять понравилась она мне или нет. Какая-то часть читается легко, потом идёт муть с размышлениями на вечные философские темы, такая как бы победа женского клуба под занавес и хеппи энд, вроде бы. Но по итогу я героине не верю. Если они умна и организована, то почему, став мамой 2 дошколят взялась за работу с командировками по всему миру дважды в неделю? Если ей так важна именно карьера, зачем все эти фокусы с подделкой кексов и варенья под домашние для мамочек домохозяек? В ее жизни чудовищно много направлений, но зачем их столько? Как мама, вышедшая на работу через 3 месяца, в транснациональную корпорацию, я могу узнать многие ситуации, описанные в книге. И я же могу сказать, что большинство их решаемы без всего того пафоса и суперусилий,…

7 февраля 2020 г. 13:05

Лампомоб 2020: 1/12

23 сентября 2019 г. 10:26

8 сентября 2019 г. 00:38

«Можно достойно оплачивать наш труд, можно узаконить декретные отпуска, но пока не выведут новый вид мужчин, способных заметить отсутствие в доме туалетной бумаги, идея обречена на провал.»

В очередной раз задумалась насколько узки рамки категории «любовный роман» для подобных книг и вообще современной жизни. Но какое определение дать подобным книгам тоже не знаю. За легким слогом скрываются весьма насущные проблемы многих современных женщин, пытающихся вместить в свою жизнь невпихуемое – головокружительную карьеру, зарубежные командировки, воспитание детей, общение с родственниками и подругами, общение с мужем, и еще тысячи и тысячи мелких задач, решения которых все ждут от женщины, всегда от женщины. И всегда она остается виновата в глазах окружающих, и сама чаще всего ощущает свою вину…

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