Kinda Pregnant Review : The comedian portrays a woman faking a pregnancy in an outdated and largely humorless effort to revive the broad studio comedy genre.
Let me be clear: I’m always in Amy Schumer’s corner, even if she doesn’t make it easy. When she’s on her game, she’s exceptional—most notably on Inside Amy Schumer, her zeitgeist-capturing Comedy Central sketch show that aired from 2013 to 2016. Schumer’s comedic style—bold, self-deprecating, and unafraid to call out sexism while satirizing certain white female stereotypes—felt both a product of and a critique of the pop feminism era, like your oversharing best friend during the personal essay craze.
Kinda Pregnant: Amy Schumer’s Struggle with Outdated Comedy in Her New Netflix Film
For better or worse—and mostly worse on the big screen—Schumer’s comedic style hasn’t evolved much. Kinda Pregnant, her new Netflix film, leans heavily on the familiar elements she’s known for: unapologetic physical comedy, candid discussions about bodies, and a bold refusal to conform to the “good girl” trope. But the film feels trapped in the past, struggling to spark anything fresh. Co-written by Schumer and Julie Paiva and directed by Tyler Spindel, Kinda Pregnant extends a streak of lackluster Hollywood projects since 2015’s Trainwreck that have stifled Schumer’s talent with weak writing (I Feel Pretty, 2018) or flimsy plotting (Snatched, 2017).
The Return of Schumer’s Bold Humor Falls Short in Kinda Pregnant
This time, the problem feels more fundamental: despite its efforts—with plenty of pratfalls and physical gags—the laughs are few and far between. If the 2022 reboot of Inside Amy Schumer revealed the shortcomings of its topical humor in a post-Trump world, Kinda Pregnant highlights the dead end of this specific brand of comedic mishap. Adding to the issue, the 100-minute film carries that all-too-familiar Netflix feel: overly bright, poorly developed, and formulaic—throwing together a cast of funny people and hoping it somehow clicks.
Despite the Premise, Kinda Pregnant Struggles with Freshness and Depth
The premise should, theoretically, be ripe for Schumer’s humor—pregnancy and childbirth distort the female body, a recurring focus of her sharpest and most revealing jokes, and come loaded with societal expectations she loves to subvert. Schumer isn’t new to pregnancy-related material either; she chronicled her own difficult pregnancy in the 2020 docuseries Expecting Amy and tapped into its raw absurdities for her 2019 stand-up special Growing.
In this film, Schumer tackles the flip side of the child-free vs. parent-friend dynamic (a concept with plenty of potential) as Lainy, an unfiltered and increasingly unstable Brooklyn schoolteacher living in a suspiciously affordable Williamsburg. Desperate to start a family, Lainy is in her early 40s and four years into a relationship with Dave (Damon Wayans Jr.), whose only defining trait seems to be that he’s a jerk. She’s convinced an engagement—and her long-awaited dreams—are just around the corner. But everything unravels in spectacular, and for the audience, exhausting fashion. While I can appreciate the effort to bring back classic studio comedy, the over-reliance on pratfalls wears thin. The tipping point? A day after Lainy embarrassingly digs through a cake in search of a proposal ring, she finds out her lifelong best friend, Kate (Jillian Bell), is pregnant.
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Consumed by jealousy—Schumer, as always, excels at portraying a woman awkwardly stumbling through the “I’m so happy for you” routine while clearly not meaning it—Lainy hatches a wild idea: what if she just pretended to be pregnant, complete with a fake baby bump? Suddenly, the world transforms into her personal playground, brimming with coos, congratulations, and prime subway seating. Thanks to the film’s whimsical blend of magical realism and a Brooklyn that feels more like a small town, Lainy strikes up a friendship with Megan (Brianne Howey), a genuinely pregnant young mom eager to bond over the struggles and isolation of impending motherhood. Coincidentally, Megan’s brother turns out to be the same guy Lainy recently flirted with at a coffee shop (Will Forte).
Chaos unfolds with a heavy dose of physical comedy—Kinda Pregnant leans heavily on gags involving Schumer frantically shoving random objects under her shirt when caught off guard or scrambling to keep her secret under wraps. There are some interesting ideas buried within: how society both patronizes and, implicitly, criminalizes pregnant women (though the latter is wisely left unspoken), the maddening insecurities of feeling left behind by friends, and the complicated mix of jealousy and genuine happiness. Jillian Bell shines as the film’s voice of reason, though even she’s roped into hosting a joint baby shower alongside the most over-the-top parody of Gen Z New Jerseyans I’ve seen—Shirley (Lizze Broadway) and her backward-cap-wearing bro husband, Rawn (Alex Moffat).
Ironically, for a comedy so committed to being outrageous—highlighted by Kiwi comedian Urzila Carlson’s vaping school counselor—Kinda Pregnant feels most at home in its more grounded, sincere moments. The delicate navigation of shifting dynamics in a close friendship, the push-pull of joy and anxiety, and the complicated role of supporting a friend through life-altering changes all hint at a deeper, more resonant story. But any emotional nuance gets drowned out by the film’s reliance on loud, over-the-top antics. Schumer’s trademark style—bold, exaggerated, and boundary-pushing, often to hilarious effect—feels like it may have finally hit its ceiling.
Kinda Pregnant is now available on Netflix
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