I've always been disturbed by the amount of smoking in movies. To me, there's nothing sadder than when, halfway through a romantic comedy, a favorite actress suddenly lights up to show she's anxious, sad, nervous, frustrated, etc. It's a cheap plot device, weak acting, and crappy direction, devoid of imagination or creativity. And a sellout by producers to an industry that, as it is shutout of mainstream advertising, is becoming increasingly insidious in its efforts to eke into our consciousness. But last night, as I watched the French film, My Wife is an Actress, tobacco use in movies hit a new low. A subplot of the story revolves around Yvan Antel's sister's ongoing battle with her husband to have their unborn child, should he be a boy, circumcised. Throughout the film, and her screen pregnancy, she chainsmokes. In fact, early on, another character advises her she shouldn't smoke, but she just sneers. Moments after she gives birth, as her husband and others are cooing over the new baby, she is at a window, smoking like a chimney! Show me one obstetrician who would advise an expectant mom to keep on puffing. Show me an expectant mom who cares a whitt about her unborn child who wouldn't at least make an effort to cut her tobacco use for the sake of her chid. Yeah, the sister's character is a neurotic shrew with all kinds of issues, but she's also middle-class, presumably well-educated, informed and living in a stable relationship. Surely the director, also Yvan Antel, could have come up with a better way to portray this character's neuroses, one that doesn't send an implied message that it's fine for pregnant women to keep on smoking. Shame on him.