I watched a movie over the weekend called Margaret. The movie was many things, but at its heart a powerful mother daughter story, or at least that’s how I read it. It said everything I’ve been trying to say with my so-called movie. Only I realized that I have been writing with crayons. Fuck shit piss. It sucks when you realize how low you really are on the ladder of who gets fucked and who doesn’t. And this brilliant movie by Kenneth Lonergan was apparently put on ice for twelve years over disputes among the producers and only just released on Netflix. No red carpet, no party, no Box Office returns. It’s from the same director of You Can Count On Me, which was a near perfect evocation of adult siblings dealing with an infirm father. Laura Linney. Philip Seymour Hoffman. It’s really okay. Every way to look at “where you are” in the great food chain of work getting produced is subject to nausea, panic, and delusional thinking. You just have to keep working and hopefully improving. I’m not giving up the ship, just a little wind taken out of my sails. Margaret, are you grieving, over Goldengrove unleaving?
What have you read or seen lately that made you feel like a piece of shit?
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