We don’t spend much time with the woman in the title, which is a shame because she is by far the most interesting character in the film. With a mess of a sister, a passive father, a mother who barely gives a damn, and a host of family tragedies, a woman who still pursues hope of the future is a rare and fascinating thing.
Instead we focus on Kym and the much lauded performance by Anne Hathaway. Like all of Hathaway’s performances, this resembled more an android struggling to play a human playing a character than anything else. Kym is a recovering drug addict (nine months sober) with a past marked not with life events but a state of constant crisis. At one point Rachel (Rosemarie DeWitt) alludes to Kym once being on the cover of Seventeen Magazine, but this is the only detail that briefly makes her anything more than “general fuck-up.” The story of an addict returning home in the midst of her sister’s wedding festivities, coping with sober living, life on the outside, family dramatics, and all eyes pointed elsewhere, could certainly make for good viewing. The trouble is that all these elements seem to be oddly lacking in weight. Win or lose, everyone is primarily fixated with treading water, or more appropriately spinning and stewing in their own foul mess. Kym, being the prodigal daughter, is the spearhead of this sickness. I presume at least in places that the viewer is expected to develop sympathy for this poor, broken creature struggling to stay afloat. Instead, every time she came on screen I found myself in a state of irritation that distracted me from all else. Her selfishness may well reflect the behavior of some people in real-life, but not anyone I want to spend two hours with.
In my opinion, a far more compelling film would have focused on Rachel and the detailed preparations of her delightfully eccentric wedding ceremony and reception. Keep Hathaway if you must, but she would serve better downgraded to a secondary character, or lower. Unfortunately, “indie” film culture treats functional characters more as something to be mocked than admired. It’s so boring and uncool to have hope and promise in ones life. Far better to exist in a darkly comic state of self disgust.
But the pitiful evils of so-called “independent film” can be dealt with another day.
