I try my best to believe that we are not running out of good ideas. There are many mystery thriller films that have gone through the public gauntlet to become glowing examples and stand the test of time. One hopes that as the craft evolves, so would the creative minds of filmmakers, and new and unique stories would be told, right?
The Good Mother answers this question with a flavorless, underwhelming "no". This film had a solid hand drawn - gifted with blocks that would have built a sturdy body of fiction, with an all too relatable core theme for many people. Instead, all sense of pacing, rhythm, and even coherent storytelling are set aside in favor of something that would barely survive on Lifetime. The loss of a loved one in such a tragic manner should feel like a crushing vortex of grief that seemingly absorbs the world. This sense of loss in this film is not only nearly undetectable, but almost laughably tone deaf in execution. Between the nonsequitur plot points that are unceremoniously dropped to the painfully boring pace, the talented cast could not breathe life into this story.
Through the slog, however, one scene protruded through the mound of disturbed ground as a glowing moment in the story - the support group scene. Karen Aldridge's performance as Laurie is visceral. As the scene pulls our full attention to her, she recants the loss of her daughter to an overdose. Her pain is crushing, and the emotions which race across her face and pound her psyche to be released are quietly commanding our emotions. This was Aldridge's moment, and her powerful monologue was gifted to us with might that is deserving of a much better movie.
I remain optimistic that I will go into suspense thrillers with an open mind, and that my experience will be unique and enjoyable. The Good Mother perpetuates the self-fulfilling prophecy of mediocrity that has soiled the genre over the last decade. I often say that all movies are worth a viewing - I still believe this. However, the silver lining is that you can stop watching anytime.
