A poorly written and somewhat vague reflection on Away We Go

(Nat, if I'm infringing on something you've written, let me know. I don't think you ever followed up on your promise to write about this movie, but I could be wrong... very wrlong.)

I have to admit, I was simultaneously intrigued by and wary of “Away We Go” – that one movie with Jim from The Office and that girl from SNL and the low, rumbling musical stylings of Nick Drake… I mean Alexi Murdoch. I love precious things, and I hate precious things, and it looked precious. I loved Dave Eggers and occasionally I’m overwhelmed by his preciousness and he, along with his wife, Vendela Vida, wrote the screenplay. I half waited to see it because I didn’t want to be disappointed, and I half waited to see it because I had no one to see it with (my one girlfriend who I can cajole into seeing movies with had plans to see it with her mom, and my boyfriend is in Omaha – that left… yep. No one.).

However, in a nice turn of events, said friend loved it and wanted to see it again, so we decided to go Friday night.

And I too loved it.

It sauntered up to the line where quirky and lovable becomes syrupy and unbearable; it tapped the line with its threadbare Converse; it spit over the line with sparkly saliva, but it never went there, at least in my eyes. As someone thoroughly fascinated with hipster parents and new age parents and wealthy-yet-trashy parents, it fed me just enough exaggerated insight to keep me happy. And its short, colorful vignettes were made for my sorry attention span.

Each family they visit tells a story and teaches a lesson – my favorite being Burt and Verona’s visit to college friends Tom and Munch Garnett in Montreal. It wasn’t a particularly funny scene, but it’s stayed with me long after the gags have been forgotten.

So, in summation, three thumbs up. I have three thumbs.