Hush little baby, don't say a word. Holy crap, y'all. I need to take a nap after this scathing review of the year of the "Abortion-Not." I've tried to ignore this trend towards yay pregnancy! in recent films partially because these movies would have no plot without pregnancy, but also because I generally think Hollywood is stupid and banal. I do not rely on Hollywood to offer me intelligent social critiques. Shocking, I know. But there's been so much uproar lately that I guess I'll have to get off my high horse and pay attention:

There can be no female agency in Knocked Up, Waitress, and Juno—not because they are comedies, but because, in each scenario, unwanted pregnancy is the joke played (by God?) on the female lead. As the most successful of the preg protags, she who is Knocked Up is necessarily the most smacked down—the glass ceiling turns out to be Alison's own uterus. Jenna and Juno are less formidable, but unexpected fertility mocks their dreams of autonomy. All three are taught their place by their own bodies—and what's more, they learn to like it.

The Village Voice just punched me in the face.