“Margot at the Wedding”

Blowhard, Esq. writes:

Title: Margot at the Wedding

Let’s tick the boxes:

absent mothers, actors blubbering, adult ADHD, adultery, anxiety, Asperger’s, Barely Legal, “Before you gave me your sweater I didn’t realize I was cold,” betrayal, borderline personality disorder, child abuse, college professors, croquet, divorce, early admission to Harvard, estranged sisters, fainting, father-daughter relationships, the Hamptons, Harper’s, hints of incest, ironic mustaches, ironic t-shirts, jump cuts, “Just then I felt so much love for you,” Manhattan, masturbation, near drowning, neurotics, New Yorker short stories, New York writers, no plot, NYU, OCD, panic attack, pedophilia, pills, R.E.M.’s Murmur, redhead Lolita next door, secret pregnancy, sexual abuse, shitting your pants, sibling rivalry, slackers, Stanford, symbolism, underlit night scenes, Vermont, walks in the woods, wannabe musicians, white wine, Williamsburg, Woody Allen’s serious movies

This movie fucking sucks.

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About Blowhard, Esq.

Amateur, dilettante, wannabe.
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9 Responses to “Margot at the Wedding”

  1. Says it all, really.

    Like

  2. epiminondas says:

    Hollywood: “Our work here is finished. On to the next project.”

    Like

  3. Fabrizio del Wrongo says:

    Nice summary, especially “shitting your pants.” That’s more or less what the movie felt like to me. Only less warm.

    Like

  4. Toddy Cat says:

    So it had a redhead Lolita next door, ironic mustaches, REM, and it STILL managed to suck? Boy, that takes some talent.

    Like

  5. agnostic says:

    Fuck all of this lurid neo-Victorian crap. Not since the Pre-Raphaelites has a woman’s face had such a phony and forced pensive expression. Really makes you want to slap the pixels right off the screen.

    Like

  6. agnostic says:

    What ever happened to genuine smiles and laughter in indie movies? Y’know, lighten up — it’s only a movie.

    The more somber or depressing aspects of a narrative cannot succeed unless they’re contrasted with more cheerful and uplifting parts. Like, duhhh. When everything is so joyless and charmless, we don’t feel all the more depressed, introspective, or whatever else the dorky director was going for — the human brain just tunes that homogeneous junk out as flat and stale, like a clueless child chewing on cardboard packaging.

    Have these guys ever gone fishing — non-ironically, I mean? You can’t pull the fish along wherever you want him to go without first hooking him, and you can’t do that without catching his attention with bait and hooking him. No meat, no zest = who cares about whatever that dangling thing is over there?

    I get so angry at stuff like that because it’s disrespectful, like a slap in the face, not merely a lame attempt at art. Like you’re such a quirky indie god that no matter how low-cal, fat-free, and reduced-sodium you make your movie, you think we’re just so desperate and pathetic that we’ll lunge on it anyway. Fuck all of these lame, disrespectful indie faggots.

    Like

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