It’s almost quaint, that yuppie feminism-light vibe that Baby Boom works so hard to give off. There’s a certain satisfaction that comes from seeing the trite Workaholic Learns That Family Is Really Important plot presented with a female protagonist for a change. And it’s amusing watching the writer/director team of Nancy Meyers and Charles Shyer create a rather in-the-moment send up of ‘80s materialism and parental over-compensation. But really, wouldn’t anyone watching it today consider its particular retro you-go-girl message faintly insulting, at best?
I suppose it’s important not to overanalyze a trifle like Baby Boom, particularly with its rare opportunity to enjoy Diane Keaton’s sparkling comic talents. Keaton plays J.C. Wiatt, a hot-shot at a New York management consulting firm on the fast-track to partnership. But at just the wrong time in her life, she learns that she’s “inherited” an infant named Elizabeth from a distant cousin who died in an accident. At first, J.C. is ready to hand the child over for adoption, but soon she decides that she can have it all, even if the “all” isn’t exactly what she originally had in mind.
Not surprisingly, the first half of Baby Boom mines most of its humour from incompetence and incongruity – the befuddled J.C. strapping on a diaper with duct tape, or a meeting interrupted by J.C. singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” for Elizabeth over the phone. Whenever those gags fail, there’s always a cutaway to the adorable child’s face to win back the audience’s favour, and Shyer cuts away so often you’d suspect he was a nervous parent himself checking up on the child’s well-being. Even when the narrative takes an unusual shift at the mid-way point to move J.C. out to the country, it’s primarily for a different kind of incongruity – the big city woman dealing with rural inconveniences and laconic handymen.
There’s more formula to Baby Boom than there is in Elizabeth’s bottle, but it gets a tremendous surge of energy from Keaton’s performance. When she’s in top form, Keaton can play endearingly frantic like no other actress can (like a tirade at her Vermont plumber that “I don’t want to know where [my water] comes from”). There’s enough charm and intelligence in Keaton’s portrayal of J.C.’s uncertainty that Baby Boom seems to glide over its easy jokes and awkward structure. Shyer and Meyers may be purveyors of really lightweight entertainment (like the remakes of Father of the Bride and The Parent Trap), but give them this: Outside of Woody Allen, nobody has given Keaton more and better comic opportunities.
Yes, there’s the matter of how quickly J.C. seems to develop a maternal instinct – would we assume any single man would bond with a strange child so instantly as to make adoption an impossibility? Credit Keaton with making this development at least remotely plausible. Just close your eyes, ignore how dated it feels and bond with a winning performance. Sometimes you can’t have it all, and it’s okay to appreciate what you do get.
