Well folks, I don’t know what to do with this one.

Strangely enough, at this point in the review, I feel tempted to dilute my true feelings.

I’d like to say, “Thumbs-up: despite a dislikable narrative, strong performances—including a perfect one from Meryl—add up to a halfway-decent film.”

However, that would be dishonest. And I owe it to readers to call it like I see it.

Simply put, August: Osage County wears me out.

To clarify, I watch movies for three reasons: to enjoy a story, to learn something, or to feel moved by compelling characters in complex situations. Unfortunately, AOC checks none of those boxes.

That said, rather than building on those goals, the story plays out like one long, unbroken loop of arguments:

“I’m trying my hardest!”

“No, I’m trying my hardest! Try harder!”

“I’m just being honest!”

“No, you’re lying! I’m the one who’s honest!”

In short, that’s the script. Just melodramatic bickering—scene after scene. And the dialogue? Painfully theatrical.

At its core, this thing wants to be a dramatic character study.

Admittedly, the opening scene barely holds interest. Still, everything quickly falls apart after that.

Moving on to Meryl’s performance – It’s fine. That’s the most I can say. I know I’m supposed to call her brilliant, but I don’t believe that. I never pitied her character, never connected. Instead, I felt bored—and honestly irritated—every time she opened her mouth.

And that’s precisely why I think this movie might resonate more with women.

For example, early on, in the middle of one of her self-indulgent rants, Meryl tells her daughter, “You look like a lesbian,” commenting on her haircut. She sneaks pills behind her back in a cutesy, flirty way. Then she adds, “Oh, he smokes a lotta grass,” with a smug little smirk.

So… are these moments supposed to be funny? Edgy? Because they land as neither. They’re just dull.

Furthermore, those mouth sounds? The pill clacks, the gulping, the exaggerated exhales—I kept thinking, “Christ, when will this woman stop talking?”

More seriously, to emphasize the point: the sheer amount of audible lip smacking, pill rattling, gasping, slurping, throat-clearing, sighing, tongue clacking, and cigarette puffing Meryl delivers is abominable. I have no idea what the filmmakers were aiming for—but whatever it was, they missed.

When the arguing pauses, the dialogue doesn’t improve—it just pivots into melodramatic novel-speak.

Here’s an example. Julia Roberts and Ewan McGregor are driving to the family house. Julia says (paraphrased), “The Midwest. It’s more like a state of mind. A spiritual affliction, like the blues…”

Seriously? That’s not how people talk. That’s overwritten nonsense.

Then, when they arrive, their daughter Abigail Breslin says, “I’m gonna grab a smoke.” Julia replies, “She gets that from you.” She’s 14. We’ve seen this exchange a thousand times. Just another entry in the long list of tired tropes.

Later on, Julia and Ewan scream at each other while dragging chairs from a storage shed. It feels choreographed—yet another cliché stacked on the pile.

Now, to be fair, here’s what works.

Julia Roberts shines. Easily the most likable on-screen presence. The same goes for Benedict Cumberbatch, Ewan McGregor (even if he leans a little soapy), Chris Cooper, Julianne Nicholson, and Dermot Mulroney—despite the absurd character he portrays.

The catfish dinner scene lands well. And anytime Julia drops an F-bomb, it resonates. Honestly, she should screen test for a superhero flick. She’s got that kind of edge.

On the other hand, the subplot with Breslin and Mulroney? Total disaster.

Here’s the rundown: he blasts Livin’ La Vida Loca with strangers in a red convertible, speeds like a jackass, brags about multiple ex-wives, answers his phone during funeral prayers, smokes weed constantly, and has a thing for 14-year-olds?

Wow. Didn’t see that twist coming.

In hindsight, I think the film wants me to like Cooper’s character. Yet immediately after preaching kindness, he humiliates Breslin over her beliefs. Make it make sense.

As if that weren’t enough, the endless Southern monologues about past trauma drag things down further. Do they sit at that dinner table for 30 minutes straight?

Truth be told, I’ve never understood the appeal of romanticized Southern twang, and here it wore thin fast.

Granted, the outburst of violence after dinner provides the film’s one jolt of energy.

But seriously—why would I ever want to watch this again?

I can’t figure out what value I’m supposed to extract from it.

Altogether, it feels like every character—between outbursts—spends time crafting poignant monologues for their next self-defense. Everyone broods. Everyone explodes. Everyone’s tragic and complicated.

Sure, I get it. They’re wildly different, deeply broken, and emotionally damaged. But why should anyone care?

Still, I gave it a fair shot. I tried to buy in. I really did.

Maybe this whole thing works better onstage. At any rate, it plays like a bloated soap opera.

There must be an audience for this somewhere. Maybe it’s women? Maybe that’s where my wires get crossed.

To be blunt, the narrative weaves through complex, confusing turns, and the cast list grows too big to track—especially with Meryl monopolizing the monologue count.

And I’ll just say it—I hate her character. Really. There’s nothing about her I care to explore.

Truthfully, I didn’t care about anyone. I almost felt something when Julia realizes Ewan’s not coming back—but even that passed in a blink.

Everything’s dark. Every conflict nudges toward something theoretically profound. As a result, I never connected. It’s just too much melodrama. Too much self-importance. Too much sadness.

I dropped ten bucks to rent this on-demand.

And while I don’t enjoy tearing films apart, I seriously don’t get the appeal here.

What annoys me more than the price tag? The idea that this film was nominated for Best Picture.

Sure, there’s an audience out there for August: Osage County. I’m just not in it.

And frankly, I doubt anyone with similar taste is either.

Sorry to say, I don’t like this movie and wouldn’t recommend it.

It may contain intelligent content, but ultimately, it’s a dreary, exhausting film that left me empty.

★★★★ ★★★★

Briefer takes at IMDb & Letterboxd.

See The Grand Budapest Hotel instead.