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No one can accuse independent filmmaker Henry Jaglom of inconsistency. A number of his movies employ a mix of improvisation, scripted story, and video-friendly talking heads — ordinary women (or actresses who admirably look like them) who face the camera to jaw on a given topic. Some viewers may be suspicious of a man so keen on such female trouble as obsessions with food (Eating), getting conned by romance (Venice/Venice), and, here, having babies. But Jaglom seems to love women generally — even the ones whose all-consuming desperation for pregnancy borders on the repellent — and his wife especially (she’s his star and cowriter). Babyfever is a valentine to them — and to thirty-somethings for whom too much talk about personal problems is never enough. B-