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Oct 26, 2018Nursebob rated this title 2.5 out of 5 stars
How can someone take a dream cast giving their best shot and still churn out such a disjointed mess as this sloppy adaptation of author Augusten Burrough’s sensationalized childhood memoirs? Apparently Ryan Murphy can and the results are disappointing to say the least. There is no faulting the actors here as everyone puts their best foot forward most notably Annette Bening’s flakey feminist and Brian Cox’s guru psychiatrist who proudly shows off his masturbation room and dispenses valium as if it were Holy Communion. But much like Tony Richardson’s "The Hotel New Hampshire", Murphy’s forced zaniness becomes tiresome very quickly leaving you to wonder how much of his source material is actually based on memories versus cuckoo fantasies. And why are there palm trees and giant phycus growing in New York State? Perhaps Wes Anderson’s dry sense of humour could have salvaged something watchable from all the batty pandemonium but as is it felt like I was watching a movie based on a rather kinky Roald Dahl book. A wonderful soundtrack of 1970s radio hits turns out to be the film’s one saving grace.