The tyranny of tea time, the torment of chops and sprouts, day in and out, the allure of the pub and the glow of the telly, the grey sameness of weather and work--the exquisite agony of being British, of being grown-up, and finally, of simply being: this is Grown Ups, a surprisingly funny film. Like all of Mike Leigh's productions it is the work of a collective genius "devised and directed" by Leigh. The film is set in the home of Dick and Mandy, young marrieds settling into their first row-house while their neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Butcher, are old hands at the marriage game. Dick and Mandy want a baby but instead get Mandy's ubiquitous older sister Gloria, whose normality has reached critical mass and who is now looking for a safe place to explode into babbling idiocy. Grown Ups is a film of postures and squints that build to a ravaging climax in the upstairs hallway, just outside the loo. It has the look of nausea, yet it is a kind film, an almost loving film. One critic has called Mike Leigh the British Ozu, a perverse comparison which somehow fits.