Yeasty and somewhat patronizing romp to do with the exotic mating rituals of the Polish-American community in Detroit: first comes baby, then comes marriage. ("All ya gotta do is blow in their ear -- that's what they say about you Polack girls.") Not much of the community at large, in which writer-director Theresa Connelly grew up, comes into focus. For that matter, not much of the pivotal family and friends, if any, comes into focus either, outside of the morose baker (Gabriel Byrne, for whom moroseness is an art) and the two women who cause him heartache: his discreetly wandering wife (Lena Olin) and his seaweed-haired siren of a daughter (Claire Danes), who scampers the streets at night and slithers into a basement window at dawn. This girl, we nod knowingly, will prove to be an unfortunate lottery pick to lead the annual Procession of the Virgin, "a high and solemn privilege." Jobs scarcely rate a glance. (The lusty Olin scrubs the men's-room floor as if she were in a burlesque routine, as in fact she more or less is.) School, if any, rates not even that. The extent of the wife's pickle obsession -- no doubt a symptom or a symbol of her need to fill the empty place in her marriage -- is not established until too late to serve its purpose. The style, if any, is dictated by the accordion on the soundtrack. And the fledgling filmmaker gives the general impression of having her hands full already, goddammit. (1998) — Duncan Shepherd
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