Feminism destroys marriage, in another earnest family drama from the author of Piper (2001), etc.
Remember those pesky women’s groups, with their inflammatory literature and fiery rhetoric? Get into the Wayback Machine and meet Cyrus Stapleton of Seattle, about to become a lonely guy. What can he do about it? Nothing much, it seems, besides whimper a little and obediently pack his bags when newly empowered Jude tells him it’s over. But what about the kids? Cyrus asks plaintively. Are you sure you want them? Didn’t you say you were feeling smothered, honey? Jude demurs. Looks like she’s been talking to a lawyer already, gosh darn it. And what about those manila folders labeled Kids, Property, and Support? She’s never been that organized before, Cyrus realizes. Why, he can still remember the day 15 years ago when Jude left their daughter Justine in a portable baby bed in a parking lot, right where someone could drive over her. And someone nearly did. And what about the brave quiver in son Derek’s chin and the tears rolling down his manly little eight-year-old face? Doesn’t Jude care about anybody but herself? Um, no. Cyrus’s peacenik brother advises him to hang tough and date. So he takes out Lill, the leader of Jude’s women’s group, a few times. But when he discovers that Lill has moved in with Jude, and the kids know that the women are a couple—well, a man’s gotta draw the line somewhere. But Cyrus doesn’t. Even after his daughter’s failed suicide attempt, he still won’t say right out loud that a live-in lesbian lover may not be the best custody arrangement, though Jude needles him about being uncool. “They pick up on your silence, Cyrus.” Not surprisingly, he files a motion to gain custody, but the outcome is, well, sort of a surprise.
An overlong episode of That Seventies Show. No jokes.