Even down to the fucking poodle

I watched Rachel Getting Married tonight, and I'm going to have to say, a little too close for comfort.
The best place to begin would be the trying to get the Dad to take sides stuff, and then there's the both literally and figuratively absent mom, in this case Debra Winger, named Abby in the movie. See, it's all about me, as usual.
There's the requisite melodrama, only to be broken up by Gus coming into our room and demanding to know where the drumsticks were, and me, not having hidden them, but knowing what it's like when someone has.
Families are fucked up, some more than others, and it's not necessarily cathartic to see it up on screen, it's more like, why was mine such a mess, and why couldn't we have looked so good all the while.