Wri./Dir. Thom Fitzgerald
Running Time - 90 mins
A Palace Films release
Now Screening at Norton St. Cinemas

I sat my daughter down, and abrasively she did sit. I spoke freely of myths, colours, sexuality and overwrought metaphors. My little flower, my darling bud, my mother in the kitchen looking like a mayflower all the time cuddling Daisy softly. Me? I'm fine and you're better. So my daughter leaves me, no note, no shouting, and I hit the bottle hardish. My son hangs around to humour me, the benevolent bastard, baseballs and pink ribbons constantly pleading for gender reclassification. Marriages they pass, the cake on a left tilt and Grandma praying for rough sex. Sally's Porsche meanwhile peaks at 167mph, averages at 113 and arrives to the reception at a reasonable 57. She's back, the festering wounds waiting for some incentive. I've been waiting for this argument all my life.

The story has been told before, wound left then right, on and on. These modern families, these Canadians, these utter fucking loonies. The son is overweight and gay, ostracised. The flashback system is merely clumsy. Patron, can you describe the man who robbed you? "Oh no no no, it's my soul he stole". The prodigal son returns, unforgiven, the malignant worm of guilt and memory burrowing deeper. Conclusion: "M'lud, I can find no point on entry, and no evidence of damage. We only have his word to go on." Fair to middling, unexceptional. And red and green and blue and green and blue. And blue.

adam rivett
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want another opinion? goto hanging garden review by peter long
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