Rosie Perez stars as Grace Santos, producer of the The 24 Hour Woman, a New York version of one of those local TV shows that follows the big early morning network offerings. Grace works under the creepy direction of the vile Joan Marshall (Patti LuPone), whose heart has long since been replaced by a Nielsen meter.
As the title suggests, the show is directed toward women, with irritatingly bubbly Margo Lynn (Karen Duffy) cohosting with hunky Eddie Diaz (Diego Serrano), who just happens to be Grace's husband. When Margo discloses on the air Grace's recently confirmed pregnancy, Joan decides to boost ratings by turning the developments of the remaining months into a regular segment on the show. With luck--from Joan's point of view--Grace will manage to give birth during sweeps week.
Grace puts up token resistance to this exploitative idea, but even she realizes its commercial potential: In fact, it proves to be the program's ticket to a network slot.
The only island of sanity in Grace's life during this frenetic period is her new assistant, Madeline Labelle (Marianne Jean-Baptiste), who has just returned to working after six years at home raising two kids. Now that her husband, Roy (Wendell Pierce), is out of work, he agrees to take over her former household duties, despite a certain male reluctance to becoming a house-husband. Thematically, the media exploitation of Grace's pregnancy turns out to be something of a red herring: It has no repercussions beyond the film's first half-hour. The middle third of the film details Grace's attempts to get back to work and to disengage from daily contact with Lili, her baby. About two-thirds through the movie, Savoca leaps forward a year to a crisis that develops around Lili's first birthday party, as Grace's careful career/motherhood balancing act finally crumbles.
In most ways, this feels like a more conventional film than Savoca's previous work: It's possible to imagine any number of faceless, if talented, hacks having directed it. At its worst, it has a bizarre unevenness of tone, as though major adjustments were made to soften its most dramatic developments.
In particular, there is the misplaced sense of dread that permeates much of the action. From the moment Grace's pregnancy is turned into an entertainment event, the film has a nervous sense of foreboding: Is something terrible suddenly going to happen? Will Grace miscarry? Will the nanny turn out to be an irresponsible flake? Something is going to happen!
It may well be that Savoca creates this mood to mirror the obsessive internal state of first-time motherhood. Or that my professional obligation to see more horror and suspense films than is probably healthy has skewed my consciousness, so that perfectly innocent little misunderstandings in a basically light film come across as setups for a catastrophic plot shift.
In either case, it should only enhance, not spoil, viewers' pleasure if I put your mind to rest right now: Nothing really irrevocable or tragic happens. Phew.
What makes the film a pleasant diversion is the quality of the major performances. It was possible to assume, from Perez's earliest roles in Do the Right Thing and Night on Earth, that she was a talented, but one-note, actress--essentially playing herself. That assumption was first proved false in Peter Weir's Fearless, for which she received an Oscar nomination, and is further contradicted by her work here. (On the other hand, there is nothing to suggest that Karen Duffy's range goes beyond the trademark hyperkinetic brashness that makes her such perfect casting here.)
Jean-Baptiste is perfect in an even subtler performance. Best known as the unacknowledged daughter in Mike Leigh's Secrets and Lies, she has so totally ditched her English accent that she may not even be recognized by that film's devotees. And Pierce is quite touching as a good-natured husband struggling with the real-world problems of suddenly becoming the primary caregiver.
The 24 Hour Woman.
Directed by Nancy Savoca. Written by Nancy Savoca & Richard Guay. With Rosie Perez, Marianne Jean-Baptiste, Patti LuPone, Karen Duffy, Diego Serrano, and Wendell Pierce.