Margot at the Wedding.

I wish I could just write a haiku about this. Or, like, not write about it at all, but I made this promise two months ago that I would write every day to try to take some of the paralyzing fear out of writing, or at least, you know, normalize the paralyzing fear into a daily ritual like my 10am Greek yogs with Splenda. And I don't really have anything else going on around here. Topical, almost, because in Margot at The Wedding Nicole Kidman plays an East Coast writer whose paralyzing fears turn her into a crazy betch who writes all her short stories about everyone else's dramas.

We have so much in common except she's prettier.


I saw the preview to Margot before Darjeeling, and was like "Great, another movie about white people problems" but as part of my religion I see everything with Jack Black in it (including The Holiday). What can I say? The Charming- Chubster -Finding -Love genre is my favorite film category. Right up there with New Wave.

i wuv woo Jack. let's abbrevs and baby talk togeths in bed, k?



Unfortunately, the movie isn't really about Jack. It's more about sisters. I almost always hate movies about sisters because they're so untrue. I love my sissies just as much as these damn characters do and we fight and shit, but no one ever throws a fucking plate across the room and erupts into hysterics when one of us disapproves of the other's boyfriend. I mean once when I was little my older sister threw a pool ball at my face and gave me a black eye, but she's since paid me $300 not to mention that story at family functions. When I strike it rich myself, I'll pay my little sister $150 to stop bringing up how I pretended not to know her at the bus stop when the mean older boys were making fun of her headgear (she had some bad teeth). Anyhow, that's about as dramatic as sister relationships get. We solve our problems with money like everyone else.

Nicole Kidman plays Margot, a successful fiction writer who hates all the men in her life, both her overly kind husband and her overly assholish lover, and takes it out on her precocious preteen son, Claude.

She's the type of mother who tells her son inappropriate things, like how she's stoned, how her sister is pregnant, and how her sister's betrothed is a big fat loser. When she gets disturbed by rifts in her romantic life she calls Claude ugly, or lazy, or stupid. She was so mean to her son it made me uncomfortable. Did I also mention I hate movies that are centered around bad moms? It's like, oh if she's a successful fiction writer, she's got to be a crazy horrible betch mother too.

To be fair, Joan really was a terrible betch, but her gracious living guide changed my entire party life.


This was one of those character-driven domestic dramas like The Squid and The Whale, or The Anniversary Party, or We Don't Live Here Anymore, all of which are excellently depressing because even though the characters may be doing bad things, you care about them. I didn't care about anyone in Margot. My vagina got kind of wet when Jack Black started crying, but that was about it, as far as emoting goes.

My favorite part of the evening is when Liz, Laurs, and I were picking up snacks at a nearby deli and after we were rung up I blurted out, "Oh I'll just stash these in my pursy!"

"Pursy", is not what the cashier thought I said. One day abbrevs are gonna get me shot!