The film begins with slapstick, almost Groucho Marxist rhythmic comedy.. A. mother engaged in the omnipresent domestic dance, the effort to mobilize a family to leave the house. When the mother's heel breaks during their trek down the pavement, she stumbles and lands on the ground with a broken pot...this is where the drama enters, and the viewer enters post-Marxist territory. The image is enough, the woman on the ground etc., to inject The Real of maternal sacrifice with some echoes of the stations of the cross...and then we are in church and the inversion, from broad comedy into something more absurdist and bittersweet, is completed. The funeral ritual is cathartic for our family, and the end is the kind of thing I want the estrogen bomb to bring to Hollywood - a scene of a simple absolution of guilt in a wonderful spousal gesture...a holiday is granted, there is no humiliation or suchlike. Yes, I see women running about fixing and micromanaging, etc. It's why my aunt is always late for everything. This film shows a way out...family as band of misfits, blending duty and playfulness bound by love. I laughed, I cried, dramatic arc in the time it takes to brew a half pot of coffee. May it be as appealing to the Academy as it is to me.
Finn
Finn