https://youtube/watch?v=Dgz88voETRM - St. Vincent (Bill Murray), a drunken, gambling war veteran retiree, gets recruited by his new single-mom neighbor Maggie (Melissa McCarthy) to watch over her undersized 12-year-old son Oliver (Jaeden Lieberher). Vincent’s ideas of after-school activities involve racetracks and strip clubs, but eventually the mismatched pair begin to help each other grow up. I have a theory that I can’t cry anymore now that I’m all jacked up on anti-depressants. I came close when my cousin John spoke at my Uncle’s funeral. It was a strange feeling. As he neared the end of his speech and began crying I thought to myself, “This used to be palpable.” The emotion began to enter me but was halted by a newly constructed fortress around my heart. It was *the* benchmark of this burgeoning inability to emote. But no more. If I don’t cry at this Bill Murray as a drunken, gamblin’, Bob Dylan lovin’, war vet who bonds with the 12-year-old neighbor kid movie, I’m seriously going to have to do a cost/benefit analysis of a life on Effexor. If I don’t cry at this movie, my therapist is going to have the pleasure of hearing me wax about the dehumanizing impact of anti-depressants for a full hour, maybe more. If you’re reading this, Marc Pechter, #1) Stop taking your work home with you! And #2) Consider yourself warned.
Posted on: Tue, 07 Oct 2014 05:11:39 +0000
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