From there, though, the film turns into a disorganized rant, jumping from Uneeda Biscuits to the Glass-Steagall Act to kids and their infernal text messaging and anything else that occurred to Mr. Hoffman or the seemingly random collection of people he allows to spout off on camera. The whole enterprise has a get-off-my-lawn feel; it tries to pass off whining and a rose-colored-glasses view of the past as insight.

He forgot Emily had no choice. Pre-occupied and absent, Lord Merton never came into Emily's head: excepting their intervisiting, both families were living rather retired,...

You drive nails into wood with a hammer.

the ligature of a joint