“No chick flick worth its collagen treatments is complete without (a) a yoga-class scene (possible alternative: the jogging-in- the-park meet-cute); (b) the triumphant sing-along where a row of white chicks lip-synch to a Motown song ; (c) the pre-wedding-jitters weepy meltdown, sometimes accompanied by a throw-up; (d) a scene set at a catering service or floral shop; (e) a snowball fight; (f) a cathartic having-it-out-with-Mom grievance-shoveling showdown (“It was always about you, it was never about me!”); (g) a Thanksgiving turkey that ends up on the floor, squirting around like a loose football; and, (h) most emblematically, the slapstick pratfall that sends the heroine splaying.”
Renee Zellweger in Bridget Jones Diary.
— from James Wolcott‘s “The Right Fluff: A Guy’s Guide To Chick Flicks” in the March issue of Vanity Fair.
