THE VOICE OF CHICAGO'S GAY, LESBIAN, BI, TRANS AND QUEER COMMUNITY SINCE 1985

It's been about three years since the last one of these Southern-fried chicken, hymn-singin', dappled-sunset, inspirational homilies with emotionally charged sisters-under-the-skin kind of movies held me in its firm but phony grasp. That was 2008's The Secret Life of Bees with Queen Latifah, Alicia Keys, Dakota Fanning, Jennifer Hudson, et al which, like The Help, was based on a best-seller. We are back in true sisterhood genre territory once again: It's the early '60s, ugly racism is rampant and the nasty, privileged white Southerners are doing awful things to their Black underlings, who are justifiably chomping at the bit as the promise of civil rights is taking hold.

Our story focuses on the simmering divide between the African-American maids (headed by Viola Davis as the quiet, taciturn Abileen and Octavia Spencer as her sassy best friend, Minny) and their white employers, the "polite" upper crust of Mississippi. However, hope for the Black maids, who have spent their lives tending their white employer's now-grown children, comes in the form of a young spitfire nicknamed Skeeter (the ginger-haired Emma Stone). Skeeter, just out of college, has landed a job as a household-hints columnist after winning over by the newspaper's salty, pint-sized editor (hilariously played by out comedic actor Leslie Jordan). However, she, too, was a child of privilege and hasn't a clue when it comes to hints on polishing silver and the like, so she turns to Abileen for advice.

Skeeter isn't interested in finding a man and settling down. ("Are you having unnatural thoughts about … girls?" her mother, played by Alison Janney queries.) She wants a big-city career, far beyond the dreary advice column and as she comes to see things through Abileen's and Minny's eyes, an idea slowly takes hold: a book focusing on Abileen's life. At the behest of her publisher she wishes for (played by Mary Steenburgen, glimpsed living it up in the Big City), Skeeter begins to craft a non-fiction book with stories supplied by all the maids, who talk to her anonymously. It's not long before all hell breaks loose—thanks to a defining incident that threatens to rip the fabric off the lid of this "genteel" society.

This incident involves a fed-up Minny feeding her horrid, bigoted employer—the snobbish town ringleader Hilly (Bryce Dallas Howard)—a tempting pie that's actually made with her own excrement. When this becomes an open secret the housewives and maids take sides, but not before screenwriter/director Taylor makes sure that his actresses (including Sissy Spacek as Hilly's dotty mother) repeatedly and delightfully pronounce the word "shit." This anachronism—considering the time, place and culture—is such an example of pandering to the audience that it has the effect of throwing one out of the picture each time it's uttered. The magic embrace of the sisterhood genre was broken for me when Taylor resorted to this all-too-easy gag (and I am told by friends who devoured Stockett's book that the word wasn't used there) and I began to question the too-pat set-up of many of the scenes, the stereotypical situations and the far-from-fresh story itself. (Would it have been so bad if Skeeter had been a lesbian? Also, why can't we for once follow the trajectory of an African-American woman who leaves the provincial South and heads to Gotham, I wondered?).

Then slowly, thanks to expert handling by Davis (whose dripping nose is becoming as much a recognizable acting tic as Meryl Streep's upturned hand on her forehead), Spencer, Janney, Spacek and Jessica Chastain as a blonde, ditzy Marilyn Monroe type in freefall, the movie got back on track and these powerhouse women helped steer The Help emotionally home, just as I hoped they would. Inside the darkened theatre as many of the patrons dabbed at their teary eyes with Kleenex, the sun was setting, the crickets were chirping and the chicken was sizzling in the pan. Far off in the distance I knew I was being conned—held a passionate prisoner, suckered in once more. However—just like when I watch Crimes of the Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Fried Green and Color Purple Steel Magnolia Tomato Beekeeper Sisters for the 199th time—I didn't give a shit.

Film notes:

—The Film Noir Foundation is once again teaming up with the Music Box Theatre, 3733 N. Southport, for the third edition of Noir City: Chicago 3, a one-week film festival (Aug. 12-18) presenting nightly double features of 16 noir classics and rarities—many not available on DVD—all in glorious 35mm black and white, and many of them restored. The lineup includes prominent titles like The Blue Dahlia and The Glass Key and little-known fare like Larceny and The Story of Molly X. I'm psyched to see two of my favorite bad-girl noir movies on the big screen: Olivia de Havilland playing good/bad twin sisters in 1946's The Dark Mirror (screening the first night of the fest) and Barbara Stanwyck as the rich, spoiled rotten hypochondriac heiress who gets Burt Lancaster—and who finally lives to regret it in 1948's Sorry Wrong Number. Film-noir experts and authors Foster Hirsch and Alan K. Rode from the Film Noir Foundation will introduce many of the movies—a big plus. Complete schedule and advance tickets are at www.musicboxtheatre.com .

—Glee: The 3D Concert Movie, a film documenting the summer music tour of all your favorites from the hit TV show (including the Emmy nominated, openly gay Chris Colfer) opens in theatres this week but was not screened in time for WCT deadlines.

Check out my archived reviews at www.windycitymediagroup.com or www.knightatthemovies.com . Readers can leave feedback at the latter website.