Malcolm & Marie, Netflix, Little Lamb, The Reasonable Bunch

Relationship Problems

Netflix original film Malcolm & Marie dropped last Friday February 5th, 2021.

🖤🙏🏿#Malcolm&Marie was produced by Zendaya.

rottentomatoes: 59%

telegraph dating site: 53

expected date of delivery calculator: 6.8

Marie Jones, Malcolm & Marie, Netflix, Little Lamb, The Reasonable Bunch, Zendaya

Marie Jones

Marie Jones puts her husband in check outside of Carmel-by-the-Sea, California.

Marie Jones, Malcolm & Marie, Netflix, Little Lamb, The Reasonable Bunch, Zendaya

“What? I can’t hear you! Thank you. Did what? Mm-hm… Malcolm, you have a college education. Hmm. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Malcolm, you’re writing the Angela Davis biopic right now. Yeah, I think Angela Davis would disagree with you. Mm-hmm. You don’t wanna make a LEGO movie. and you’ve never gotten a good review in your life. And you’re complaining about reviews that haven’t yet been written. So, stop. Makes you sound like an asshole. Yeah, but save it for another day. You’re complaining about the white girl from LA Times ’cause she gave you a bad review that one time. Malcolm, you won. Okay? She’s comparing you to Spike Lee and Barry Jenkins. Fine, you’re not the next Spike Lee or Barry Jenkins. I don’t know William Wyler. Mm-hmm. No. Yeah, some classics.” — Marie Jones

“You’re right, Malcolm, I don’t. It was nice. Hmm. Hmm. Aww, that’s so sweet. Do you want salted or unsalted butter? What? No, it wasn’t. No, it wasn’t. It was nothing. Well, maybe you can’t read me. I haven’t eaten all night. It’s 1:00 in the morning. Can we eat and go to sleep? Neither do I. That is why I’m making you mac and cheese. No. No.” — Marie Jones

“No. I didn’t take it personally. Promise. No. Yes. I do not get weird around Taylor. ‘Meek?’ Huh, really? Well, that’s different from being Meek. What? Meek implies that I’m shy or small. That she’s queen of fucking England. What? What? Hmm. Don’t jinx her, Malcolm. I have nothing nice to say Taylor, so I don’t talk to Taylor. It has nothing to do with being meek. Really? How do you know? Really? What can I say? I’m personable. What does? Other fucking human beings with personalities? She’ll survive.” — Marie Jones

“I promise you, it’s not a good idea. Let’s just talk tomorrow. It’s not that big of a deal. Malcolm, I promise you, nothing productive is going to be said tonight. Because I know you. And I love you. It means you are literally incapable of de-escalating a situation unless it’s work-related. Even then, it’s 50-50. Really? You wanna go there? Okay. Your speech, Malcolm. You forgot to thank me, Malcolm. It’s not a minor detail. That’s a big one. Because it is more. It’s our entire fucking relationship in a nutshell. I’m dead serious. You’re hyperbolic. You thanked 112 fucking people tonight. You thanked your mother, your gaffer, your agents, your third grade teacher, the usher at the theater when you were 12 and saw whatever the fuck. You know what I mean. Huh. That’s a shame. You’ve only seen it 7,000 times.” — Marie Jones

“Well, Malcolm, I changed my mind. Honestly, it’s pretty fucking easy. Nope. Nope. Well, because when I was in the theater, it didn’t matter. Wasn’t that big of a deal. It was fine. Until the after-party, when every single person, from your mother to Taylor, kept coming up to me and going, ‘you know, I bet you’re probably a little bit upset right now because he forgot to thank you, but you know how much he depends on you.’ Yeah. She told me not to read into it. Funny you should say that. That’s the exact thought I had. I didn’t ask. Didn’t ask. I didn’t ask. It’s not just about you forgetting to thank me, Malcolm. It’s about how you see me. And how you view my contribution, not just to this relationship, but to your work. Specifically in a movie you made about my life.” — Marie Jones

“Really? Are you actually yelling and belittling me from across this house because you are too busy eating mac and cheese? ‘What?’ Don’t fucking lie! You literally just got seconds. Do you know how disturbing it is that you can compartmentalize to such a degree that you can abuse me while eating mac and cheese? Mac and cheese I fucking made you. Verbally abuse me. If you’re gonna treat me like an insane person and call me crazy, the least you could do is do it without casually eating macaroni and cheese. How does that work for you? What does that sound like in your fucking brain? ‘What a ****! Mmm. This macaroni and cheese is delicious.’ ‘What a ****. I wonder if there’s more.’ ‘What a ****. If I could direct commercials for Kraft, I would.'” — Marie Jones

“It was mean. All night I had to watch you two smile and take pictures together. I know. I don’t care. Not at my expense. You’d never forget to thank her. You wouldn’t. No, because she would flip the fuck out and spend the night making you pay for it so you’d never let that shit happen again. No. What I’m saying is you spend your entire life catering to the feelings and the whims of literally everyone but me. Agents, producers, crew members, actors, fucking fictional characters get more respect and empathy from you than I do. And… that’s what so odd about this whole fucking situation, because I get it. Taylor is wonderful in the film. But when you get up there and you talk about her ability to breathe life into the character of Imani without ever mentioning that if I didn’t live my life, she wouldn’t exist, it’s kind of fucking weird. She’s a 20-year-old drug addict trying to get clean. Just a fucking coincidence? At 20?” — Marie Jones

“Who? What people? Mmm. Okay. Your cousin. You know what, Malcolm? I feel like once you know someone is there for you and once you know they love you, you never actually think of them again. It’s not until you’re about to lose someone that you pay attention. What? I’m not looking for an apology. Don’t be cruel. I’m serious. I know we talk for hours about work. It’s not about credit. I don’t want fucking credit.” — Marie Jones

“The film is beautiful. I’m proud of you. Took forever to make and it was tough, but I have one question. Do you think that the movie would be as good as it is if we weren’t together? And that’s all I wish you would have said. That depends. On whether you can manage to not say something hurtful for the rest of the night. Fuck you aren’t. No. Mm-hmm. I don’t care. Just don’t take me for granted. You did. You can kiss me now. I’m the only person who tells you you’re being an asshole when you’re being an asshole. And now… that you’ve made a movie that everybody loves… the world’s gonna be kissing your ass. Mm-hmm. Yep. I heard that shit all night. ‘Oh, he’s so sensitive.’ ‘He’s so in tune to emotion. He’s romantic.’ ‘I bet he’s sweet, right?’ I said, ‘well, I mean, yeah.’ ‘When he’s not being an emotional fucking terrorist.’ No. Mmm. I am tough.” — Marie Jones

“You know, life is gonna get easier, but it’s also gonna get harder. Just don’t believe the hype, Malcolm. And don’t push away the people who ground you. Yeah. You’re gonna start making fake movies about fake people with fake emotions. Then you’ll start having dinner with the white girl from LA Times. Yeah. Mm-hmm. You’ll be talking about this one-take and… and that one-take, and how the camera… you know you do that, right? Literally. Next thing you know, you’ll be on your press tour for your new LEGO film. Talk about how it’s an allegory for the failures of reconstruction. ‘Well, the original working title was… Forty LEGOs And A Mule, but the… the studio got a little, uh…’ mm-hmm. Malcolm, you laugh, but I can see it. I’m serious, I can see that shit. All your new Twitter friends will be quote-tweeting your ass, handclaps and shit, talkin’ ’bout, ‘this is what change looks like.’ ‘Yes, king!’ Mm-hmm. But the rest of America will be like, ‘what the fuck is this Negro doing selling us some shit with these LEGOs?’ ‘I’m not seein’ that shit.’ Then there’s gonna be boycotts, fucking protests because you’re politicizing these LEGOs, but thankfully, you’ll have your new white girlfriend from the LA Times. I mean, she’s gonna come ridin’ in with her SPF-50 brigade on some real soccer mom shit… …tweetin’ at people left and right. ‘Well, this is literally censorship!’ ‘Who is in charge here?’ ‘It is our moral obligation to go and see this movie written and directed by a real bla… I mean, person of color.’ ‘We are gonna make history, okay?’ ‘We’re going to make it the biggest box office ever.’ And the next thing you know, you will have made a toy company a billion dollars. Yes!” — Marie Jones

“Congratulations, Malcolm Elliot! You fucking did it!’ ‘Here’s a couple million dollars and a fuckin’ fruit basket.’ ‘But just as a thought, have you ever considered doing the Angela Davis biopic, but with LEGOs?’ You laugh, but… you could change the world. Why, Malcolm? Well, Malcolm… unfortunately no one can really write me except you.” — Marie Jones

“To pee. Outside. Because I didn’t grow up with a backyard. The novelty hasn’t worn off yet. You know you are the neediest man I’ve ever dated. But at the same time you are also the least jealous man I have ever dated. I mean, I could literally be hanging on some random guy’s arm and you would never think it’s sexual. You’d just come up to me and be like, ‘hey, babe. What the hell are you doing?’ ‘I need your help. I can’t remember anybody’s name here. Let’s go.’ That’s it. Doesn’t matter. Mmm. Kinda. Hmm. I was outside smoking and you were in here apologizing in whatever emotionally obtuse way made sense to you. As if a song written 50 years ago about a different fucking girl would somehow make me feel better about our relationship. Not when it borders on indifference. Malcolm, you can encourage me to have a life of my own, but that’s just… that’s bullshit. You don’t want me to have a life that is separate from yours because you are too fucking needy. Don’t be sensitive. This isn’t a fight. It’s not. It’s an observation. Why? Why? I think I’m thinking clearly. I do have a slightly masochistic streak. Oh, my God. Thank you.” — Marie Jones

“Don’t patronize me and tell me I gave up something when you know damn well your work is all that you have time for and all you care about. Fuck you, Malcolm. Fuck you! You are ugly inside. Malcolm, I want you to leave this room.” — Marie Jones

“All right, how about we cut the bullshit, Malcolm? Since everybody’s being honest tonight, how about you be honest? Hmm? About the real reason you were there for me. I was good fucking material. Hmm? That’s why stuck by me. Because I was a story. It was a world of emotions you weren’t used to seeing so fucking close. And because I was 20 years old and I’d never been loved the way you loved me or thought you loved me, I didn’t realize what I was to you. A fucking movie. A tragedy. One that you could continue watching for as long as you were there for me. And tonight, in that fucking audience, I watched the whole shit play out. So don’t pretend like it was a selfless fucking act, Malcolm. It’s literally the basis of your art and it is the reason why all these people are calling you brilliant and brave and fearless. ‘So tell us, Malcolm.’ ‘How were you able to breathe life into the character of Imani?’ ‘How were you able to channel the voice of a young woman so well, so authentically?’ ‘Hmm.’ ‘Well, Jennifer, that’s a good question. I guess you could say I stole it.’ ‘I ripped it off.’ ‘Not a literal theft, a spiritual one.’ You’re a fucking fraud. The reason you didn’t thank me tonight is because you already know that. You have nothing new to say. All you can do is fuckin’ mimic. Be a fucking parakeet, a goddamn cockatoo. I mean, God forbid you are ever alone, and have to dream up another original idea. What are you going to write, Malcolm? Huh? Yourself? Give me a fucking break. You don’t have the balls. You don’t have the gravitas, the fucking introspection to look at yourself and your flaws and your shortcomings and the fact that you may not be the next Spike Lee or Barry Jenkins because those motherfuckers had something new to say.” — Marie Jones

“Something true to themselves and their fucking experience. You say the film is about shame and guilt. Correct? Your words, not mine. All right. Well, I have a question for you, Malcolm. Whose fucking shame? Whose guilt? You have two parents, no bad habits other than being a fucking prick, and a college education. Your mother is a therapist. Your father is a professor. Your sister works for a think tank in D.C. But out here, on these streets, these smiling fucking rich people, they think you know what it’s like to scrap. Think you fucking liked it. Give me a break. You’re more privileged than the white girl who works for the LA Times, who thinks she’s doing a public service by lifting up your mediocre ass. Try slitting your wrists with a pair of nail scissors. You’re not gonna want to survive it, because it’s embarrassing. Don’t worry. I’m not so petty I throw it out in argument because I’m angry. Too late. It’s embarrassing and it’s cruel, and it makes me regret sharing so much with you.” — Marie Jones

“Out of everything I said, ‘mediocre’ is what stuck with you? Guess. What is the question specifically? I never said that. I never said that. I feel you’re being a bit irrational. Look at you.” — Marie Jones

Malcolm Elliott, Malcolm & Marie, Netflix, Little Lamb, The Reasonable Bunch, John David Washington

Malcolm Elliott

“♪ Hey, man ♪ I was born in New York City On a Monday ♪ It seems I was out shining shoes ‘Bout two to noon ♪ All the fat cats in the bad hats… ♪. You look good tonight, baby. ♪ In the bad hats ♪ Laying it on real good ♪ Here’s a dime, boy… ♪ I said you look beautiful tonight. I said you look beautiful tonight, baby! Baby! ♪ So you try hard, or you die hard ♪ No one really gives a good damn ♪ You try hard, and you die hard ♪ No one gives a damn ♪ Here’s a dime, boy Give me a shine, boy ♪ Down and out in New York City ♪ Ain’t no way to be But where can you go? ♪ When you’re down and out in New York City ♪ Ow! ♪ No, no, no, No, no, not me ♪ When you need a friend ♪ Need to have a… ♪ When you want a friend ♪ Ow! ♪ Gonna get myself together In the morning ♪ Gonna leave it all like one bad dream ♪ All the fat cats in the bad hats Doing me a real big favor ♪ Got the fat cats in the bad hats ♪. Whoo! Whoo! I’m a little wavy. But life is good. Because we fucking did it! I wrote and directed and premiered a movie that knocked the audience the fuck out tonight. Did you see that? Baby, did you see that audience? I said, did you see the audience? Man, I delivered a fucking knockout punch. The last eight minutes straight, they were sobbing and when the credits hit, it was like a fucking bomb. It’s like a bomb went off. It feels good. I cannot believe this is real. Baby, I can’t believe this is real. Afterwards, I talked to six critics. Six or seven of ’em. They was all on a *****. You feel me? The white guy from Variety loved it. The white guy from IndieWire loved it. The white woman from the LA Times, she really loved it. She kept saying that I’m the next Spike Lee, the next Barry Jenkins, the next John Singleton. I just looked at her, like, ‘what about William Wyler?’ You could tell, for three whole seconds, she was like, ‘was William Wyler black?’ Sh-yeah! And then she realized, ‘oh… shit. That’s racist too.’ She got flushed. Face red. That shit had me dying. Marie, that was hilarious.”

“And she kept stumbling over her words, saying shit like, ‘the movie was so emotional.’ ‘I– Malcolm, I couldn’t even think straight. Oh, my God, Malcolm.’ ‘Just, just, Malcolm. Malcolm.’ ‘Oh.’ Yeah, it was like a super white moment. What was interesting, though, was that you can tell that because I’m black, as the director, and the woman is a black lead, stars in the film, she’s already trying to frame it through a political lens, when in reality, it’s a film about a girl trying to get clean. Now, are there certain obstacles, because she’s a black woman? I mean, hell yeah. Right? That’s reality, too, but it’s not a film about race. No. It’s about shame, it’s about guilt, and how that shit is inescapable. And it annoys me that so many of these journalists can’t help but to flex their college education. Yeah, but I’m not academic, baby. I’m not elitist about my shit. I’m not trying to make a film for the three people in my media studies class that I respect. I am a filmmaker. Right? Am I a filmmaker, baby? That’s right. And I’m going to be part of the larger conversation about filmmaking without always having some white-ass writer making it about race ’cause it’s fucking convenient. You know, I could see– I could see the reviews now. It goes something like this. This is how they be writin’ and shit. ‘This film is an acute study of the horrors…’ they like to use words like that. ‘… the horrors of systemic racism in this mental health care industry.’ Instead of it being a commercial film about a drug-addicted girl trying to get her shit together. I mean, these people, these fucking people are so pedantic. They are. I mean, we get it. You’re smart. We get it. You’re woke. We get it. Let us, us artists, have some fucking fun with the shit. Let us have fun with the art.”

“Yeah, but that’s different. That’s different. I’m choosing to make a film that’s fundamentally political, but not everything I do is political because I’m black. She– she would, huh? For real, though, like, if I decide to make… a fucking LEGO movie, it’s not because I want to tell a story about how the building blocks of the American empire was slave labor. I may just wanna make a LEGO movie. Yeah, that’s true. But that LEGO movie was fire. That shit was heat! Right? Damn, baby, that’s… you right, though. Right again. Yeah. But shit, you know what I’m saying, though. Yeah. Aw, she didn’t just give a bad review. She gave a dumb-ass review. There is a difference. But she’s such a mediocre-ass writer. Doubt she knows who William Wyler is. Is it ready, babe? Here comes the mac and cheese. You don’t know who William Wyler is? Oh, man. He did The Best Years of Our Lives. Sh– shit was heat. Ben-Hur? He’s one of the most versatile filmmakers of all time. I mean, Wuthering Heights. Heads-up. Roman Holiday.”

“It’s different, though. You don’t work in film. Did you have fun tonight? ‘Nice.’ The entire night while I was talking to all those sweet, smiling, rich people who, a month ago, wouldn’t give me the time of day, I just kept looking at you. And I think to myself, ‘God, you’re the most gorgeous creature on Planet Earth.’ And the sexiest too. I mean, there’s nobody sexier. Even Anthony said it. I mean, not in a bad way. In a positive way. When I’d see you… with your cranberry and soda… smiling, chopping it up… and I’d think, ‘God, how fucking lucky am I?’ I couldn’t wait to get you home. Hold your cute little ass and kiss it. Tell you that I love you. I love you, Marie. I’ll just have you. What was that? That was a fake-ass smile. Swear to God, it was. Bullshit, I can fucking read you. I know when nothing is something. No, I can read you. That’s not what this is. Please, Marie. I really don’t wanna fight tonight. So you are angry.”

“Was it the thing that Anthony said? The joke about you being a model? Wouldn’t take it seriously. He’s hold and from a totally different era. Promise? Was it Taylor? You sure? I know you get weird around Taylor. You get meek. Well, you don’t talk a lot. I just mean– I didn’t mean it like that. I meant– she’s a movie star. She’s about to become a movie star. It’s just… she notices. Really. ‘Cause I just do. She sees how you are with other people. You’re talkative. You’re funny. Right. Which is what makes her insecure. No. The fact that you’re not yourself and she sees it. Hmm. So why you angry? Marie, you’re angry. Marie, what you angry about? Marie. Marie? Marie! Marie. Marie, talk to me.”

“But you’re upset with me. I can’t go to bed knowing you’re angry. How do you know? What does that mean? What does that mean? Why is it that anytime anything good happens, you have to find something, anything, the most minor fucking detail to harp on, to make ugly, to ensure that there’s no reason to fucking celebrate. Yes. All right, then. What is it? Oh, give me a break. You’re outside of your mind. When I said you find the most minor detail to make it ugly, I meant it. But I’ve thanked you a million times before. You know that I’m thankful. You know I’m appreciative. You know I made a mistake, so why turn it into something more? What? Oh, you can’t be serious. You’re psychotic. I’m not. It’s psychotic to think that forgetting to thank you is symbolic of anything other than me legitimately forgetting to fucking thank you. Didn’t thank the usher. You don’t have to be sarcastic, petty and obnoxious about the shit. I’m sorry. I forgot to thank you. I am genuinely sorry, which is why I apologized to you a thousand times during the movie. I felt so guilty, I couldn’t concentrate on the movie.”

“Every time I’d lean over and said, ‘I’m sorry,’ you said it was fine. You squeezed my hand and said it was fine. You said, ‘I love you. Don’t worry. It’s fine.’ How can you just change your mind? That doesn’t seem a little crazy to you? It doesn’t? Why? Taylor said that? What the hell does that mean? I didn’t cheat on you. Just saying– well, I’m just saying–“

“You know, Marie… you are genuinely… unstable. I’m not kidding! Hmm. Mmm. I’m actually concerned for your mental well-being! Hmm. Hmm. Obviously, there are certain similarities. But Imani’s not based on you. You’re fucking delusional! In what fucking universe is Imani’s character based on you? What? I’m not. No, I didn’t. Abuse you? Abuse you? Thanks for the clarification. It’s kind of an important one. But verbally abuse you? Get out of here. Say whatever you want. Get pissed off I didn’t thank you, Anthony said that joke about you being a model, that Taylor said whatever the fuck Taylor said– well, she’s an actor.”

“She’s the lead in my film! It’s my job to make her feel comfortable. Actually, it is. Despite how you fucking feel about it, it is my job. Jesus Christ! ‘Cause she’s psychotic. You’re saying you’re not nuts enough. Imani is not based on you. Obviously, you getting clean was a part of the inspiration. Yes. And you provide genuine insight into that. What was that like. But Imani is not based on you. It’s an amalgamation of different things, a bunch of things.”

“People! A lot of different people. Like my cousin. Rick, for one. A lot of different people and things. That’s not true. Is that what this is? Is what you’re threatening… if I don’t apologize, I’m going to lose you? What do you want? A screenplay credit? It is so much of a nuisance that you’d like compensation? I had a draft of the script before you ever came into my life. Well, what is it, Marie? What do you want?”

“No. Great. Are we no longer fighting? On what? I mean, I’m not that bad. Can I kiss you? Are you sure? But I really, really wanna kiss you. I don’t. I’m sorry. Yes! I know. You think so? What did you say? Yes. Yes. You think you’re tough, skinny-bones Jones? Nah, I’ll eat your ass for breakfast. You light work.”

“What do you mean? Yeah. No! Not the white girl. Oh, brutal. Yes! You know your white voice is crazy. That’s funny. You should’ve never given up acting, baby. I always believed if you found a character that actually allowed you to be yourself, you’d be astonishing. Hmm. Hmm.”

“♪ Have I told you ♪ Lately that I love you? ♪ Well, if I didn’t, darling, I’m sorry ♪ Did I reach out and Hold you in my loving arms ♪ In my loving arms ♪ Oh, when you needed me? ♪ Now I realize that you need love too ♪ And I’ll spend my life Making love to you ♪ Oh, I forgot to be your lover ♪ And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… ♪ Marie! Marie! Marie. Marie! Marie, stop playin’. Marie! Shit. Marie! Marie, stop playin’. Marie! Marie! Shit. Marie. Marie!”

“Oh, my God! Where the fuck did you go? To pee– where? Why didn’t you just use the bathroom? Jesus! But whose arm are you hanging on? Is this about tonight? ‘Kinda?’ Mm-hmm. Some people say lack of jealousy is a good thing. What are you talkin’ about, Marie? Thought we were done fighting. Yeah, right. Tsk. Oh, you don’t wanna go there. Trust me, you don’t. Even if you do, you’re not thinking clearly. Trust me, you’re not. But you’re not dumb. Don’t be a fucking brat.

“Oh, so you gave up a career in acting to be an emotional fucking support dog. I get it now. ‘Cause you’re scared, you didn’t want it. You never wanted it. ‘Cause you’re scared to try and fail. No, fuck you! Marie, when I met you, you were a fucking pilled-out disaster. You were barely 20 years old. Couldn’t hold a conversation without noddin’ off, or passin’ out, or breaking down. Don’t act like for the last five years you became so enlightened that I fucking… forgot the old you. Of course I want you to have a life. You know why? Because I’m terrified if you don’t, you’re gonna hang everything on mine. And when, God forbid, I forget to thank you at a movie premiere, you come home, you start a fight, and by morning you’re drinking on Xannies, tryin’ to fuckin’ cut your wrists with a pair of fucking nail scissors. Stupid motherf… oh, shut the fuck up, Marie. You know, I get it. I really do. You have pain and fucking disappointment and dreams like everybody else on planet Earth. You’re mad you didn’t get the jobs you wish you’d got. You’re embarrassed you had to play ‘skinny girl in alley’ and ‘concerned nurse number two.’ Well, guess what? None of us are proud of where we first start off. I started off, I had to do token fuckin’ punch up on straight to VOD rom-coms, and under-the-table rewrites on films that didn’t wanna pay writers! But you keep working! You keep on trying! You work harder and harder ’cause even if you’re not talented, which you are, you can still get somewhere, as long as you don’t have an ego. You don’t have to be proud of everything you do! But you do have to work harder than 99% of people.”

“You know what’s bullshit? What’s a fucking cop-out, Marie? Is you acting like my work is so fucking suffocating that you can’t even breathe, that you don’t have any fucking space. I mean, look around. Look at this fucking house the production company has put us in. Pick a room, get to fucking work, and stop blaming me for your inabilities to get your shit together! I checked you into rehab. I went to group therapy with you. I’ve been with you. I fucking supported you every single step of the way. When you were depressed, when you were on so many meds that you couldn’t fuck for half a year, I was there for you. When you relapsed, I was there for you. When we lived on 38th Street and you went out to that meeting, right? And you went to the meeting that you didn’t come home because you were fucking somebody else, right? Guess who was there for you? This ***** right here. So, don’t go there. Do not fucking go there because you are not gonna win this one, Marie. Trust me.”

“Now you’re being cruel. I didn’t mean it. Fucking calling me… I’m keeping you… bullshit! How the fuck am I keeping you from a life? So stupid. Fucking bullshit. I know… I know what this is. This is bullshit. Fuck Malibu.”

“What do you mean, ‘mediocre?’ Were you just trying to be mean? Is that why you said it? I just wanna know if you actually believe it. Answer the question. Do you not like the movie? So you don’t like me and the movie. That’s literally what you just fucking said. I’m being irrational? I’m being fucking irrational? This is the biggest night of my life, and you’re trying to turn it into the worst and I’m being irrational. You’re so solipsistic that you see yourself in everything. Even in things you had nothing to do with. You notice the way Imani walks. You turn to me and say, ‘I wonder where you got that walk from.’ I don’t say shit. I actually smile, don’t I? Keep that shit light because I don’t wanna hurt your feelings, but you tally that shit up, Marie.”

It’s not until you’re about to lose someone that you pay attention.

— Marie Jones

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA – DECEMBER 05: Actors Denzel Washington and son John David Washington attend a basketball game between the Los Angeles Lakers and the San Antonio Spurs at Staples Center on December 05, 2018 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Allen Berezovsky/Getty Images)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *