Mandy Moore was the only redeeming part of this nonstop train to Sucktopia, USA

I recently had the gross misfortune of watching this horrendous production:



I chose what I assume to be the Russian version of the movie poster because it somehow manages to capture the shitfest essence of the entire film and garnish it with an iota of creepiness.

Reasons why I suspect Because I Said So was directed by a man:

1) Overdosing on the subtle spice of a neurotic, critical, overprotective, but-we-love-her-anyway kind of mom.



Diane Keaton plays the requisite “mom” role in this atrocious rom-com and I genuinely wanted to punch her every time she appeared on camera. In fact, I feel that any real mother would probably find the overly cliché, psychotic inclinations of Keaton’s character to be offensive. Her campaign of verbal abuse towards youngest daughter Milly (wtf???), played by Mandy Moore, does not resonate with parental concern but seems to conceal a genuine maliciousness. It was scary and made her daughter’s continuous toleration of such behavior seem to be symptomatic of Stockholm syndrome.


2) Generalizing that all gatherings of the non-male variety are like girl versions of raunchy, whose-dick-is-bigger overshare sessions.

Maybe it is my inner prude talking, but I don’t think mothers and their daughters indulge in show-and-tell sessions of how an orgasm feels or competitively compare their individual performances in the bedroom … or engage in conference calls with each other during sex.


3) Assuming that “finding the right man” is the only priority in any woman’s life.

The moral of Because I Said So: being romantically alone is the worst thing in the world. No matter that Milly has caring friends and family as well as a successful career; the film tacitly labels her a social leper and portrays her as the ultimate loser. The reason? She’s single.


4) All women don’t mind finding out their date secretly has a child as long as she discovers this substantial development via the charming tableau of the man playfully interacting with his child. In fact, this discovery immediately causes the woman to eagerly commit to this man and his unearthed progeny.

Wtf? Snack-sized human beings are not the miracle drug for relationship anxieties. Nor can they completely hypnotize women into quiet submission.



(Yes, the film's wardrobe department did seem to be cruising the effects of a homeless-bag-lady-at-the-Kentucky-Derby bender at all times. And yes, that is a wedding cake, not a psychedelic flesh-eating space plant from the Qvartak hell dimension.)

The movie is a poor cut-and-paste effort hurriedly contrived from what seems to be a crash course in romantic comedy tropes. It’s like a mass-manufactured copy of an already lackluster original made by someone who only believes in stereotypes. The most gimmicky part of all is how they even managed to insert some random plot devices so Mandy Moore could sing.