| PITTSBURGH-FILMED 'BREAD' IS A MIGHTY SWEET TREAT | ||
Resist the temptation. Fight it. You don't owe it to anybody to be taken in by one more comedy-drama about a family whose most beloved member is terminally ill. When you're finished combating your intentions, succumb to "The Bread, My Sweet," a locally made movie that betrays its budgetary constraints and still manages to be funny, charming and so powerful you're almost certain to be caught off guard. What a pleasure to see a movie in which you enjoy everybody's company while the affection builds and builds. Still, you might not expect the wallop the picture packs. "The Bread, My Sweet" is a huge valentine to a dying woman no one wants to lose. It's set primarily in the Strip District, where the Italian immigrants Bella (Rosemary Prinz) and her crusty husband, Massimo (John Seitz), live above Enrico's, their authentic Italian bakery (no mixes). The bakery has been run for them for three years by three brothers who are unrelated to the older couple but are surrogate sons to them: Dominic (Scott Baio), Eddie (Billy Mott) and the eldest, Pino (Shuler Hensley), who appears to be learning-impaired. "We were Spaghetti-O Italians," says Dominic of his own folks. He works two jobs - the other as senior vice president to a corporation based in the PPG Building and run by an impersonal CEO (Bingo O'Malley). In Bella's dreams, Dominic might one day marry her prodigal daughter, Lucca (Kristin Minter). The idea, naturally, will be to find and summon Lucca and persuade her to marry Dominic, if only for long enough to complete Bella's life. It's contrived and manipulative to be sure, but it's also sweetly sentimental in the manner of the locally made "Dominick and Eugene" (1988) and quite irresistible. Director-writer Melissa Martin, a Carnegie Mellon University drama school alumna, based Bella on a friend who lived over a bakery and died four years ago. Martin exhibits a good ear for the practiced broken English of an immigrant intent on expressing her heart ("I need you promise take care of him"). She shares with the audience a great affection and tenderness for the people she conjures and brings to our attention. She makes them worth our while by showing us why they like each other and how generously responsive they are.The screenplay's most overt problem is a jokey reference to someone's rumored bisexuality that is possibly wrong and certainly misleading. The one great missed opportunity involves the casting of Minter, able as she is, as Lucca. It's fine that Dominic is handsome and charismatic, and as played by Baio he is. His presence and his style are established up front; they're a given - a significant reason he's as personable as he is. But although it doesn't detract from the integrity of the piece that Lucca turns out to be conspicuously beautiful, imagine the enhanced eloquence if the opposite were true. Consider Dom forging a relationship with the plainest of women - someone who can't be glibly repaired and idealized with a quick trip to a beauty salon. "The Bread, My Sweet" still makes a positive statement about people of conscience, responsibility and even faith. It offers especially fine work by Prinz as the strong, private matriarch and by Hensley as the slow brother who is wounded to the core by his brothers' unintentional, yet credible, insensitivity.A lovely score by Susan Hartford amplifies the good feelings generated throughout. Mark Knobil's cinematography will have audiences here eagerly identifying each familiar frame. And for local theatergoers, there's the extra joy of seeing so many strong Pittsburgh-based performers, including O'Malley, Marty Sheets as corporate board member Liz, John Amplas as cafe denizen Jimmy, Nardi Novak as police officer Nancy and Philip Winters as Dr. Wahl. The film premiered here in Pittsburgh as the opening attraction Nov. 2, 2001, in the 20th annual Three Rivers Arts Festival. Among those attending were Martin, Prinz, Hensley, producer Adrienne Wehr, musician-singer Rachel McCartney and others associated with the production. |
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