Chronically Metropolitan

This film is beautifully shot with its cinematography of the streets of New York City. Also, the characters here are rich and beautiful and, at times, they'll be some clever dialogue.

However, I also found most of the characters here quite manipulative and shallow and lots of the scenarios came across to me as contrived, like a soap opera in other words. To note, this is an adult drama, with some sex scenes, explicit references, raw language, and on screen drug use.

I can't decide if this is a failed movie about a dysfunctional family or just a failed movie. There is no plot and the characters are weak and uninteresting. Everybody is so undecided about their lives. And please tell the son to get a haircut. Its not interesting, its annoying. My rating of 7 is overly generous. I watched the whole movie but kept checking the time.

Fenton the writer returns home for a week, to a very hostile group. His own family, his ex, various friends and acquaintances around town. Some extra complications include his cheating father, in the hospital after an accident. The impending marriage of his ex girlfriend. Even his mother thinks it was wrong for fenton to write about the people around him, in such an obvious way. So much bickering. The mother seems to be willing to put up with dad's cheating, as long as she can nag him about it incessantly. At first. The usual dysfunctional family that most of us experienced, growing up. This seems to be about fenton returning to face his demons. He hurt a lot of people by writing about them in his book, then disappearing. Living with one's choices. Regret. Forgiveness. Lots of long, thoughtful scenes, with music playing in the background. It's okay... a thinker film. No big car chases or adventure in this one. Directed by xavier manrique, his third film direction. Story by nicholas schutt.

1 minute in, a post-middle aged Christopher North is quoting Yeats to a probable teenager who's drinking from a flask in the backseat of his car. She clutches the front row bench seat while he clutches her, providing a recital of the dead Irish poet's prophecies to a fit of drunken giggles and indifference. Mr. North, wearing the worst fake goatee I've seen since a 1970s middle school Halloween party, proceeds to slip her a very visible tongue. I feel incredibly confused and unclean. #MeToo

Slow, plodding, boring, and depressing. I stopped watching half way through, just couldn't take any more "I'm sorry" every other scene.

Instead, go empty the trash and clip your toe nails, at least you'll get something done.