In Brooklyn, Zelda, her lover Max, and their small daughter Little Z share one room in a flat with seven others, including Natali, a best friend of Zelda's just out of detox. Max is a ...
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In Brooklyn, Zelda, her lover Max, and their small daughter Little Z share one room in a flat with seven others, including Natali, a best friend of Zelda's just out of detox. Max is a would-be writer, off most of the time drinking; Zelda is an illustrator working in the bedroom as she tends Little Z. At least once a week, Zelda and four other young women who each have a child meet for $2 margaritas during happy hour. They talk about life a few years ago without kids, men (only one is married), postpartum sex drives, moving to the country, and being stuck. As Max's moods weigh more heavily on Zelda and as Natali's recovery abates, can Zelda find constant forward motion? Written by
I was expecting too much, perhaps, but this independent feature pretty much sums up all that can go wrong with non-mainstream cinema. The story of a group of twenty-something mothers who drown their sorrows in brightly coloured margaritas at the local bar EVERY SINGLE DAY, Margarita Happy Hour has no plot and a group of characters so utterly unattractive and uninteresting that you'll have stopped caring what happens next after the first ten minutes. Larry Fessenden, a fine filmmaker in his own right, is unable to elevate things much as Max, the useless schmuck of a father who prefers to spend his spare time snorting coke and getting into fights. The only actress of note is lead Eleanor Hutchins, whose expressive face does more for the film than the entire script.
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