The Spitfire Grill review

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Painfully slow to get going, The Spitfire Grill waits until you're reaching under the seat for your coat before finally sputtering into life. Writer-director Lee David Zlotoff is clearly aiming to create one of those touching, accessibly feminist tales that gently unfold rather than motor forward with masculine impatience: this is the whimsical story of a girl's search for a new life, of the community that eventually accepts her, of sizzling bacon, eggs over-easy and black coffee. There's a mad, hairy bloke who hangs around in the woods, but don't get excited - even he turns out to be an okay fella.

If you're thinking this sounds just like all those other films about strong women pulling together to run a small café, you're exactly right. You get to drop in on most of the inhabitants of the town, and hear plenty of gossip about Percy. You get an abortive romance. You get an uplifting ending.

Slug-paced, event-free but well-played women-run-restaurant chick flick, almost completely devoid of interesting or even distinguishing features.

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