If only all women in their late 20s/early 30s were written by men in their 40s, huh?
That's probably harsh, but this could've been really great. It absolutely nailed moments of obsession and contentment and emptiness as beautiful and heartbreaking elements of modern love and life. And yet, in contrast to such Relatable Content, this woman is pure fiction and I just couldn't shake the dissonance.
Can't help but imagine what this film would've been with the pen of someone who either was a woman or who had met one.