Starring Keri Russell, Cheryl Hines, and Jeremy Sisto. Rated PG. Opens Friday, May 11, at the Fifth Avenue Cinemas

Is there some law that says all waitresses must have southern accents? And they are not really all named Madge, but there's something about movies that inspires these stereotypes.

The main server in Waitress is, in fact, called Jenna, and she is embodied by Keri Russell with enough steel-magnolia intensity to turn some clichés on their ears. Jenna is one of three main hash-slingers, the others being a ball buster played with gusto by Curb Your Enthusiasm's Cheryl Hines and a church mouse played by Adrienne Shelly, who also wrote and directed the film.

The initial minutes of diner dialogue are shaky, with stilted, fake-sounding twangy banter and too obvious jokes, but as the focus shifts to Jenna and you get used to its theatrical style, the movie gets stronger with every scene. It's clear from the start that she is unhappy at home, but it only takes one encounter with husband Earl (Jeremy Sisto) to realize that she really does have the worst marriage in town. (The setting is something like Mississippi, but it's never stated.) He's a brutal control freak who's also a crybaby, so when she discovers that she's pregnant, well, that's one tie too many to a guy who was probably a catch in high school but is now keeping her from the national baking contest that would likely make her name and fortune, as she is clearly the most gifted pie maker in the tri-state area.

Her talents are soon appreciated by Dr. Pomatter (Nathan Fillion), her new obstetrician. He's married too, but something about this nervous young man triggers feelings she's never had before. This may sound like a recipe for farce, or melodrama, but the director is playing with elements we don't usually see on-screen: namely, a real sense of female desire, and rage, but couched–or at least baked–in irresistibly clever and highly stylized terms.

I wish it were possible to review the film without reflecting on the short life of its maker, who came to indie fame by starring in Hal Hartley's early efforts. Shelly, whom I considered a friend, was murdered in Manhattan last November, and the film was completed after her death. The final scenes of Waitress-sweet, funny, and deeply melancholic - have an unintentionally elegiacal quality, heightened by the presence of ancient Andy Griffith as the curmudgeonly diner boss. Indeed, the movie says goodbye to a talent that was just beginning to flower and will be remembered with sorrow and laughter.