Zoe Kazan, I mayhaps misjudged you as a girl riding the coattails of her famous grandpapa, because your movie is amazing: a great movie about the narcissism of writing, sans self-indulgence. Not only do I want to own and wear each of Ruby’s outfits, but your writing is whimsical sans annoying and heartfelt sans saccharin. If you were spending today scouring the internet to determine whether or not I respect you as a writer, I DO.

(Note: two semesters of college french, a week in Paris 8 years ago, and a 15 second google search do NOT provide me with any sort of confidence that the french word for film, which is conveniently also film, is feminine as opposed to masculine, so I officially declare it to be a girl word.)