We enter this film in the middle of a breakup that is sharp and swift as poet and unemployed academic Lily Tomlin disposes of her much younger Lesbian lover of four months, Judy Greer. She describes her as a footnote. Then she breaks down in the shower. No sooner is she wearing her mortar board and gown than teenaged granddaughter Julia Garner shows up pregnant needing $630 for an abortion at five forty-five that evening. Grandma only has $43. Her longtime companion died 18 months earlier and hospital bills left her broke and she cut up her credit cards. They spend the day hitting on people she knows looking to make up the difference. This is an exercise in writing craft: give interesting people a problem and solve it. Because it’s about a writer it’s told in six chapters. Grandma has cool friends but when they hit the feminist bookstore run by Elizabeth Pena (late, lamented, what a loss), Greer is unexpectedly there working and they have the mother of a quarrel. Laverne Cox owes her but hasn’t any money on her so gives her a tattoo and petty cash. Julia introduces Grandma to the moron who knocked her up – and she beats him up. They roll up to the fabulous modernist home of Sam Elliott – and Grandma’s surprising and hidden sexual past is opened up in an incredible scene-sequence, beautifully played by both parties. Push comes to shove and they have to go to the office of her daughter Marcia Gay Harden, a powerful businesswoman, and look for the money there. This is a very smart, well-told tale, of people who make families in unusual ways, about the perils of love, marriage, illness, parenthood, mother-daughter relationships, reconciliations and how hard it can be to get an abortion. (Just wait for the scene outside the clinic to see what happens to Tomlin!). Written and directed by Paul Weitz, who had worked with Tomlin on Admission: this is her first starring role since Big Business with Bette Midler in 1988. She’s fantastic in this sharp story of septugenarian life,spiky, witty, wise, decent above all and occasionally sad. All the exposition is done succinctly and inventively and the running time is just 79 minutes. Politically correct – in a good way and extremely funny to boot. Who knew that ‘writer in residence’ could be a term of abuse? !