Producers: Betsy West, Julie Cohen, Justin Wilkes, Sara Bernstein and Holly Siegel     Directors: Julie Cohen and Betsy West   Screenplay: Julie Cohen and Betsy West   Cast: Julia Child, Jose Andres, Paul Bogaards, Andre Cointreau, Phila Cousins, Susy Davidson, Daniele Delpeuch, Barbara Fairchild, Jane Friedman, Ina Garten, Charlie Gibson, Stephanie Hersh, Marian Morash, Russell Morash, Sara Moulton, Jacques Pepin, Alex Pirie, Pat Pratt, Alex Prud’homme, Ruth Reichl, Cecile Richards, Jean-Francois Thibault, Marcus Samuelsson, Francois Simon, Anne Willan and Dorothy Zinberg   Distributor: Sony Pictures Classics

Grade: B

One might question the suggestion put forward in this documentary by Julie Cohen and Betsy West that Julia Child singlehandedly transformed the style of cooking in America, but a second—that she was instrumental in the early development of what would become PBS—is inarguable.  Her “The French Chef,” which debuted in 1963 on Boston’s struggling WGBH, was such a hit for the then-NET station that it helped lead to the formation of Public Television in 1969.  It also made the idiosyncratic, larger-than-life Child a figure whose celebrity endured until her death in 2004.     

Based on Bob Spitz’s 2012 book “Dearie: The Remarkable Life of Julia Child,” the film starts with a brief archival clip of Child’s initial 1962 appearance on a WGBH book review program to discuss her long-gestating “Mastering the Art of French Cooking,” written in conjunction with Simone “Simca” Beck.  The slot went so well that the station’s producer Russell Morash suggested trying her out for three programs, and the rest was history.

The documentary then doubles back to fairly standard chronological treatment, beginning with Child’s birth in Pasadena to the relatively well-do-do McWilliams family;  her father, a conservative Republican, and mother tried to arrange a socially proper marriage for her, but she resisted.  World War II intervened, and she joined the OSS.  It was during her service in the Far East that she met, and fell in love with, State Department official Paul Child.  They married after their return to America; her father was none too pleased with her choice.

Then Paul was posted to Paris, and it was then that Julia’s love of France—and French cooking—began.  With her husband’s encouragement, she became a student at Le Cordon Bleu, the rare female at a famed cooking school in a country where the profession was a male domain.  Seeking to export what she learned to an America where processed food was considered the ultimate not just in convenience but in quality, she undertook the long process of writing “French Cooking,” dutifully preparing each recipe and carefully explaining ingredients and modes of preparation.  Rejected by the publisher that had initially commissioned it as unwieldy and impractical, it was championed by an editor at Knopf, for whom it became an unlikely best-seller.  It, and the television spin-off, made Child a star, and legions of fans and disciples followed her lead in their kitchens and restaurants, opting for fresh ingredients and traditional dishes made from scratch (and with plenty of butter and wine).

Like Cohen and West’s previous film “RBG,” this is a portrait of a strong woman whose dedication to a dream won out (and, not coincidentally, of an amazingly supportive spouse unafraid of living in his wife’s shadow).  And like that film, it’s very conventional in structure and approach.  It can’t, of course, offer new interviews with its subject, but it compensates with scads of archival clips from her numerous television and public appearances, as well as amusing bits from her programs on PBS and her later segments on ABC’s Good Morning America. 

These are supplemented by stills, movie and TV clips (the famous Dan Aykroyd Saturday Night Live sketch, but not Meryl Streep’s impersonation in “Julie and Julia”), bits of early correspondence between her and Paul (and a poignant segment dealing with his late-in-life descent into dementia and her care for him), and color footage, newly shot by Claudia Raschke and Nanda Fernandez Bredillard, of succulent dishes being prepared in accordance with Child’s directions (Susan Spungen is credited as “food stylist”).  Added to all this are excerpts from interviews with friends, relatives, fellow chefs, colleagues and commentators; those by Morash are especially telling, but all are informative, some slyly so.  Carla Gutierrez has edited all this material together smoothly, and though the score by Rachel Portman leans pretty heavily on cliché, it’s not oppressive.

Along the way, “Julia” makes a few observations that add to its subject’s complexity.  It’s noted that Child used occasional homophobic slurs, but that she also became a prominent advocate for AIDS research and treatment.  She declined the label of feminist, emphasizing her love for a homebody’s life with Paul (whose contributions to her work are not overlooked), but was a staunch supporter of Planned Parenthood.  Her major work was collaborative, but in time she promoted her celebrity over the contributions of Beck.  And while emphasizing her common touch, the makers also acknowledge Child’s pampered upbringing and canny business sense, which was certainly instrumental in nurturing the fascination with food preparation that has become so expansive a part of the modern entertainment scene.    

This is no exposé, however, nor is it unique—there have been earlier, quite good, documentaries on Child.  But as an affectionate tribute to an undoubtedly eccentric but hugely likable woman whose impact on American life and culture in the twentieth century was substantial, it could hardly be bettered.