A Home at the End of the World is an amazing book. I have recommended it to several people. It helped me to understand my mother in new and amazing ways and it has some wonderful, beautiful stuff in it. It's really wonderful.
The movie, however, is crap, quite honestly. I don't know who this Michael Mayer is who they decided had the ability to direct this film, but it's an utter mess. I have no idea what that movie was about. Aside from playing fast and loose with the book in silly, unnecessary ways, the movie has no substance. It doesn't say anything. It doesn't have any money scenes. It doesn't get under your skin in any way. It's dumb. It's basically a sort-of "best hits" of the novel. It's so the opposite of how The Hours turned out. Maybe it's because the novelist, Michael Cunningham, wrote the screenplay. He's a phenomenal novelist, and I hope he doesn't write another screenplay for a long time. I'd love to read another of his novels and I don't think I ever want to see another one of his films. He just doesn't know how to write for the movies. If they ever butcher the film version of Flesh & Blood, I might picket the studio that does it.
I loved this book, and the movie is so bad.
Colin Farrell is great, though. I should say that. And Robin Wright Penn is perfection in this part. If the movie were better, I'd say she had a shot at a Supporting Actress nom in January, but the movie is so bad, there is just no way. A shame.
I did yoga this morning for the first time since, like, March. It felt really good. Why don't I do this more often?
Oh yeah, because I'm fucking lazy.