"When Milo loses his job, then gets a chance to have it back if he can
reel in a big fish — a major gift from an old college friend who’s now a
Machiavellian tech millionaire — he starts down a grim and spiraling
path. Manipulated and degraded by the millionaire, Purdy; frozen out by
his quite friendly yet unapologetically adulterous wife, Maura; even
disrespected by his penis-obsessed preschooler, Milo thrashes around
trying to stay afloat while he luxuriates in his growing despair and
resentment. To make matters worse, Purdy has an illegitimate son, Don — a
viciously angry Iraq war amputee — who turns out to be Milo’s homework:
to get the donation, Milo has to keep tabs on Don and funnel hush money
his way." (NY Times)
"She pulled out the piece of hotel stationery “that’s gonna make me look crazy.” She hesitated and said she couldn’t understand why she was so nervous. I interrupted to say I was nervous too. For the first time, she looked at me. Her eyes were huge and green, like mint chocolate chip when it melts. “That’s very” — she laughed — “mirror neuronal of you.” I asked what mirror neurons were. She said they’re what “make you feel empathy.” Here, she began reading rapidly, furiously, from the small piece of paper:" (NY Mag)
"The only good thing about Yoko Ono was 'Oh Yoko!'"
"Aw, man. I'm a, I'm a Yoko Ono fan."
"Aww, man? Really? I'd always get bummed out when I saw her eat at Honmura An, and she'd eat soba there and I'd be like, 'Fucking...that's fucking Yoko Ono.'"
"Well, I’m a pillhead, and I had some medication run out, and I couldn’t
sleep. That was Thursday, and I’m supposed to write four times a week,
and I’d already done that. Most of the time I couldn’t even make that,
but I did then, so I didn’t go in on Friday. Then I used drugs heavily
that weekend, which was my choice, whatever, I party. And I had
forgotten my phone at the office by mistake, but I didn’t even care. And
then the Internet got turned off in my apartment, and because I didn’t
even have a phone I couldn’t turn the Internet on, and I had no way of
getting ahold of anyone. And then I got sort of depressed, as pillheads
are wont to do. And put up my blackout curtains and just went to bed for
a week. I didn’t call them [my co-workers at xoJane.com], didn’t tweet,
didn’t do anything." - NY Mag
"This is an evocation of young love in a more innocent America: a
charming, beautifully wrought, if somehow depthless film; heartfelt and
thought through to the tiniest, quirkiest detail in classic Anderson
style. There are the familiar rectilinear shots and compositions with
letters and drawings suddenly filling the screen like courtroom
exhibits." (The Guardian)
"Oftentimes, I write about people who are smarter than I am and know more
than I do, and I am able to do that simply by being tutored almost
phonetically, sometimes. I’m used to it. I grew up surrounded by people
who are smarter than I am, and I like the sound of intelligence. I can
imitate that sound, but it’s not organic. It’s not intelligence. It’s my
phonetic ability to imitate the sound of intelligence." - NY Mag
