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BRIAN VINER reviews Nightbitch: Stay-at-home mum? You'll laugh and wince through this middle-class horror
A female friend of mine is a member of a film 'club', made up of what some, even she, might call 'middle-class women of a certain age'.
An acclaimed artist whose professional life now feels like a limb that has been severed, she is never named, simply appearing in the credits as ‘Mother’, with Scoot McNairy as ‘Husband’ and a pair of very cute twins sharing the role of ‘Son’. This is conventional stuff, slick but safe comedy, out of the same tin as classy British TV shows such as Outnumbered and Breeders, with McNairy playing almost a caricature of the ostensibly empathetic partner who, in fact, doesn’t begin to understand what his wife feels she’s left behind, every time she sings The Wheels On The Bus. The unambiguously-titled Merchant Ivory is a long-overdue appreciation not just of the two men who gave their names to what more or less became a cinematic genre, but also to the other two people vital to their success: writer Ruth Prawer Jhabvala and composer Richard Robbins.
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