For a film crammed with vitality and joy, Waitress is tinged with sadness. Writer-director-actor Adrienne Shelly penned her third feature while she was eight months pregnant, and dedicated her sweet, small town yarn of pastry and maternal angst to her daughter, Sophie.

In November 2006, shortly before the film was accepted to the Sundance Film Festival, Shelly's husband discovered her hanging in their bathroom. Police arrested a 19-year-old construction worker, who confessed to killing the mother during an argument about excessive noise during building work. The senselessness of Shelly's murder hits home most powerfully in the film's lingering final shot as the fictional heroine, played by the radiant Keri Russell, walks into the distance holding the hand of her daughter, played by Sophie. On the soundtrack, the heroine sings a lullaby composed by Shelly and Andrew Hollander entitled Baby Don't You Cry (The Pie Song). The undying love expressed in the lyrics is heartbreaking.

Waitress is a fitting tribute to Shelly's talents as a filmmaker. Her picture is a valentine to motherhood and an extremely moreish slice of old-fashioned romantic comedy. The unlikely heroine is Jenna (Keri Russell), a server at Joe's Diner, who is known far and wide for her tasty bakes, including I Hate My Husband Pie filled with unsweetened bittersweet chocolate pudding drowned in caramel and Kick In The Pants Pie crammed with cinnamon spice custard.

Trapped in a loveless marriage to her selfish husband Earl (Jeremy Sisto), Jenna thinks her world has come to an end when she falls pregnant. Fellow waitresses Becky (Cheryl Hines) and Dawn (Adrienne Shelly) try to keep her spirits up but handsome obstetrician-gynaecologist Dr Pomatter (Nathan Fillion) confirms Jenna's worst fears. Struggling to reconcile her fears, Jenna contemplates an extra-marital affair with Dr Pomatter, while preparing for a regional bake-off with a $25,000 first prize.

Waitress is a delight, beautifully scripted and directed by Shelly, who skilfully reveals glimmers of hope in Jenna's bleak predicament. Russell is glorious in the lead role navigating her character's ups and downs with gentle humour. Fillion is an appealing romantic lead and the ensemble cast relishes an abundance of crisp one-liners like Becky's declaration: "He makes me forget about my husband, my loneliness . . . the dreadful misplacement of my bosoms."

Sisto is repellent as a man concerned more with physical gratification than the feelings of his other half, while Andy Griffith relishes the impishness of curmudgeonly Old Joe, surveying his kingdom from his favourite table and delighting in the contents of the local obituaries. The array of wackily titled pies looks mouthwatering, not least Jenna's speciality, Mermaid Marshmallow Pie, a heavenly combination of coconut, chocolate and cream. Bon appetit!

If any more proof were needed that the golden age of Robin Williams is well and truly behind us, take a walk up the aisle with Ken Kwapis' mean spirited comedy Licence to Wed. Donning a dog collar as the holy man from hell, Williams gallops through his usual repertoire of imitations, accents, non-sequiturs and wild gesticulations to wring the life out of Kim Barker, Tim Rasmussen and Vince Di Meglio's second-rate script.

The one-man blitzkrieg of ad-libs and asides becomes wearisome, and so the film introduces a cherubic pint-sized hench-boy to do Williams's bidding. Two scene-stealing show-offs for the price of one - and still we feel short-changed.

Sadie (Many Moore) and Ben (John Krasinski) meet by chance and fall madly in love, deciding to tie the knot within weeks. Ben suggests a wedding in the Caribbean but Sadie confides her lifelong dream to be married at the altar of the family church, St Augustine's, under the care of Reverend Frank (Williams). To that end, Frank insists Ben and Sadie take part in his marriage preparation course, which he claims gives couples the necessary framework to build a thriving relationship. Ben and Sadie agree and Frank and his assistant, Choir Boy (John Flitter), begin their programme of tutorials, lectures and practicals, gradually exposing differences between the lovebirds which threaten to tear the relationship apart.

Marriage is an institution and after 91 minutes of Licence to Wed, I was more than ready to be institutionalised.

A padded cell and prescription medication would be a blessed relief from Frank's unpleasant and creepy interest in Ben and Sadie, who don't seem like such an ideal match by the time the end credits roll, accompanied by a selection of unfunny out-takes.

From Frank's narration, it's evident that we're supposed to accept that there is hidden method in his Machiavellian madness, and yet, we're also supposed to root for Ben and Sadie.

The film wants to have its wedding cake and eat it, and consequently we have no sympathy or affection for any of the characters as poor Ben squirms from one embarrassing situation to the next.

Next to Williams's outbursts and mugging, Moore and Krasinski are lifeless and rather insipid, filling their two-dimensional roles with minimum enthusiasm.

Most of the supporting characters are redundant, from Christine Taylor's embittered sister, who has just gone through an acrimonious divorce, to DeRay Davis's best man, who urges Ben to widen his romantic horizons: "There are plenty of fish in the sea. Now is your time to be king barracuda and swim with those sweet tuna!"

"That has got to be the most stupid thing I ever heard," replies Ben wearily.

He speaks too soon - there's at least another 15 minutes of the film to go.