And like that, one of my favorite films ever. I resisted it for years because it was shaded by Tatum O’Neal’s unfortunate adult life (the John McEnroe marriage, the tell-alls, the drugs) and a fear that the cutesiness would kill things. It’s the opposite. There isn’t a sweet moment here. No gloop. It’s all cringing and snaps and the stuff of real father-daughter relationships. I’ve seen my father and sister go on and on, chirping, knowing it’s all love, but never saying so. I never envied their relationship, until now. Bogdanovich, what a genius, what the hell happened to him. What a great book he’d be. Or a movie.
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