It’s almost impossible to review The Kitchen without mentioning last year’s far superior Widows, so let’s just get that out of the way first. Yes, the films have nearly identical premises—I joked with a friend that The Kitchen was in the “extended Widows universe.” But there are a few notable distinctions. As the title indicates, in Widows, three women band together to form a gang in the wake of their bad-guy husbands’ deaths. In The Kitchen, the wives of a trio of two-bit gangsters take over the turf when their husbands are in jail. Also, Widows takes place in the present day. The Kitchen takes place in the ’70s—at the height of the women’s lib movement—and it never lets you forget it.

In a weird coincidence (or perhaps not), The Kitchen starts out almost exactly the same way Widows does, albeit presented with far less finesse. Our three heroines—Kathy (Melissa McCarthy), Ruby (Tiffany Haddish), and Claire (Elizabeth Moss)—are saying goodbye to their Irish gangster husbands, who are about go on a job. It’s swiftly established that Kathy’s husband (Brian d’Arcy James) is the only one who is a relatively loving spouse and father (she’s also the only one with kids). As for Ruby’s husband, Kevin (James Badge Dale), and Claire’s husband, Rob (Jeremy Bobb), they are equal parts abusive and dismissive. When the men get arrested, their wives are told the neighborhood head gangster will provide for them. What he offers, however, is a pittance and Ruby and Kathy decide to take matters into their own hands.

The fact that their imprisoned spouses are unaware of their activities is actually a selling point for The Kitchen in my mind. It adds an element of a ticking clock. What will happen when their men get out of jail? Will these macho guys accept their wives as the new kingpins? (Whatta you think?)

Still, it’s odd to see a movie about three women turning into hardened gangsters—and yes, killers—framed as a “you go, girl!” empowerment tale, but that’s at least partly what The Kitchen does. Claire is a particularly bizarre character. Previously a meek woman who was constantly abused by men (a la the Elizabeth Debicki character in Widows), she takes a particular, almost visceral shining to murder, as a form of vengeance (and self-actualization). Joined by her new beau—a sociopath with a heart of gold, if you will, played by Domhnall Gleeson—she especially enjoys the vivisection of corpses in the bathtub before they are dumped in river. You go, girl?

The film’s awkward empowerment narratives are met by an equally awkward tone, which vacillates between Scorsese-wannabe gangster tropes and a more lighthearted approach to the material, including a recurring bit where our heroines brazenly dodge traffic every time they cross a busy street. As for the Hell’s Kitchen sets and the ’70s wardrobes, they seemed a bit too on the nose (did you know that Hell’s Kitchen was filled with trash?). Similarly, the ’70s feminism references are laid on thick: “All Gloria Steinem and shit,” one character says admiringly to Kathy. “Good for you.”

But there was enough that I enjoyed, including strong supporting work from Gleeson and the always welcome Bill Camp as a drolly amused Brooklyn mob boss who instantly recognizes that these she-gangsters are much shrewder than their male counterparts. Margo Martindale also turns up, as she is wont to do, as Ruby’s mother-in-law, an aging mob matriarch wedded to the status quo.

As for the leads, despite the oddness of her character, it was gratifying to see the gifted Moss do something besides stare defiantly at the camera after a “hilariously” counterintuitive needle drop (i.e., most of what she does in The Handmaid’s Tale). Haddish mostly plays it straight as the gruffest of the group (a few critics have groused over a twist involving her character, but I found it oddly satisfying). And finally, I’m just madly in love with the direction of Melissa McCarthy’s career these days. She has proven, with this film and Can You Ever Forgive Me? that’s she’s as brilliant a dramatic actress as she is a comedic one, which is saying a lot. Kathy grows in confidence and nerve with each frame—and it’s fun to watch this Little League mom develop a swagger.

Ultimately, The Kitchen is shallow and, okay, a little ridiculous, but it entertained me. No, it’s no Widows but I wouldn’t quite throw it down the drain.

Watching Can You Ever Forgive Me?, I was suddenly reminded of one of my favorite films, Tootsie. If you recall, in that film Dustin Hoffman played a talented actor who was so arrogant, so socially toxic, so filled with entitlement, he couldn’t get work. A similar fate has befallen Lee Israel (Melissa McCarthy), the prickly and anti-social heroine of Can You Forgive Me?, which is based on a true story. A talented writer, she’s had a few successful books, but her form of rigorous biography has gone out of fashion, replaced by novels and memoirs from celebrity authors. (The film is set in 1991: Tom Clancy and Nora Ephron are both name-checked as successful writers of the day.) What’s more, with her frumpy personal style, caustic sense of humor, and indifference to social niceties, she’s simply unpleasant to be around. Oh, and did I mention she’s a drunk? Israel’s agent (Jane Curtin) wants to be done with her, but tries to give her some advice, a la Sydney Pollack in Tootsie: Get sober and be nicer. To Israel, this is a nearly impossible request.

Israel regularly drowns her sorrows at a neighborhood watering hole, which is where she meets the similarly dissolute Jack Hock (Richard E. Grant), a bon vivant, who has managed to get by on good looks, gameness, and charm, but who is definitely aging out of his lifestyle. They become fast friends and drinking buddies.

Meanwhile, while researching her latest book, a biography of Fanny Brice, Israel stumbles across an old letter of Brice’s, which she is able to sell for cash. The buyer notes that letters that show off a famous writer’s talent and wit are extremely rare and therefore most desirable, which gives Israel notions. She buys a bunch of old typewriters, learns to age paper in her oven, and starts forging fake letters from famous writers—Dorothy Parker, Noel Coward, Lillian Hellman—always managing to emulate their trademark style and voice. (The irony is that we consumers want our favorite writers to have a consistent public and private persona—Israel is able to provide that false, if comforting, narrative.) She starts making a lot of money—she and Jack Hock begin to do a bit of galavanting around town—and we nervously wait for her to get caught.

As Israel, McCarthy sheds all her (admittedly surefire) comic instincts and gives a remarkably understated performance. It would be so easy to overdo it, making Israel a pathetic cat lady or wisecracking drunk in a sitcom vein. Instead, she conveys everything—Israel’s gimlet-eyed observations, her depression, her alcoholism, her tendency toward self-sabotage—with enormous subtlety. Even more so, she makes it clear that Israel has an ego investment in these letters—she’s proud of her ability to mimic these great minds, but frustrated that she gets no public approbation for her work. (Jack, the only one who knows about her illegal vocation, is useless on that front.) That paradox—she was a misanthropist who craved public approval—gets to the heart of her character (and the heart of many writers, in general).

As Jack, Richard Grant is her equal, embodying this aging party boy so fully, it’s as though he were born to play the part (in some ways, he was; it was his irresistible performance as a flamboyant drunk in Withnail and I that launched his acting career 30 years ago). Jack always provides an injection of devilish mischief and fun into the film—and Israel’s life—but we see the sadness and regret around his edges, too. It’s beautiful work.

Can You Ever Forgive Me? has a literary, insightful, and witty script by Nicole Holefcener and Jeff Whitty and is directed with a pitch-perfect tone and an evocative sense of place by Marielle Heller (The Diary of a Teenage Girl). It’s an actual film by grownups and for grownups. Is this real life?