A lot, as it turns out. The movie is a mess. I’ll gladly echo all the praise for Anne Hathaway, and I hope she has a long career full of complex, slightly dark roles. But the film itself is a blob of family dysfunction that slowly overtook my psyche and made me want to hide in a closet.

Admittedly, I’m not exactly drawn to anything related to the phrase “getting married.” I’m not a fan of weddings — partly because I’m still excluded from that particular rite of passage, but mostly because I don’t like forced family get-togethers generally. And having wallflower tendencies, I simply can’t relate to the whole “Hey, look at me and celebrate my love by ogling my clothes and watching my beloved shove cake into my mouth!” thing. Nor am I gung-ho about marriage generally (the concept, with or without the wedding). So maybe I should have expected Rachel Getting Married to disappoint and confound me.

But I am generally a fan of movies and TV shows that dissect and expose family dysfunction. They can be cathartic, poetic and very moving. Examples: The Squid and the Whale; The Savages; Secrets and Lies; Six Feet Under; The Shining (ha-ha). They can even be hilarious (see The Royal Tenenbaums and Little Miss Sunshine). I guess I need some sort of cinematic structure to rein in all of that amorphous angst. And Rachel Getting Married is so shapeless, I’m not sure it’s really a film. It’s more like an extended home video, crossed with a United Colors of Benetton commercial.

So I’ll console myself the way I always do: by focusing on the lovely, lovely women in the movie.

First, of course, Anne Hathaway. She is so rrowrr with the dark hair.

Next, Rosemarie DeWitt, who seems to be well on her way to specializing in “normal person with crazy sister” roles. I like her more and more every week in The United States of Tara, and I liked her in Rachel Getting Married too. Also, I like her nose (and the fact that she hasn’t done anything with it). And she has a Feist-y quality. Feist meets Paget Brewster, maybe.

Where did she come from, anyway? She seems to have sprung fully formed from obscurity. Her performance in Rachel eclipses Bill Irwin’s, if you ask me — but then, I generally see him as a flurry of tics and grimaces with not much underneath.

Finally, the sublime Debra Winger. When she first appeared on the screen, I gasped. She is aging so very well, and I’ve missed her.

Winger’s part in the film is quite small, but of course she makes the most of it. And (uh, spoiler alert) she gets to give Anne Hathaway a black eye. Woo!

I don’t blame Winger a bit for retreating from acting lately, but for selfish reasons, I hope she takes on a few more choice roles before she retires entirely. She has a big, big gift. (I guess that’s the gift that Netflix brought me.)

And that reminds me: how yummy was Winger in Eulogy, playing gay and playing the piano? Here’s my favorite bit from that one (the “fuck-sing” scene — sorry about the weird crying/coughing at the beginning):

That’s Glenne Headly as the fuck-singee, by the way. Lucky girl. (And yes, Famke Janssen and Kelly Preston also play lesbians in the film. And Zooey Deschanel is in it too, but not so gayly.)

Hey, Eulogy is another family dysfunction flick that I like just fine. Maybe my problem really is the wedding thing — I probably would have loved it if it had been Rachel Getting Buried. After all, I do adore Harold and Maude. Sing out!

I first saw her in Muriel’s Wedding. This movie is one of my faves (laughter, tears, Toni AND the very sexy Rachel Griffiths?! Yes, please!), and it’s a perfect example of the way Toni can keep you in stitches while tugging at your heartstrings. And the “Waterloo” scene is a surefire remedy for a bad day.

Next came Cosi and Emma, and the excellent Clockwatchers and Velvet Goldmine. She was the darling of indie films when “indie” still meant something.

Then, of course, she “made it big” in The Sixth Sense, and in many other fairly small but very memorable roles in big-budget movies. And then she really hit the jackpot: The Hours. Oh, how I love this film. (I think my main reason for writing this post was to watch the Toni-Julianne kiss another dozen times — and I’ll replace this clip with a better one later so you can get the full effect!)

And then she found the perfect amalgam of everything indie and everything big: Little Miss Sunshine.

She even made parts of Evening tolerable. And that’s just a sampling of her career, of course. But let’s get back to her current project, The United States of Tara (my new Sunday night addiction). Creator Diablo Cody knows what she’s doing: the story lines are fascinating, the cast is exceptional (more on Rosemarie DeWitt later this week), and Toni is breathtaking in every way — from her sculpted physique to her finely honed acting chops.

Playing a woman with dissociative identity disorder means playing a lot of characters — sometimes four different characters in the same 30-minute episode. When Tara “transitions” to a different identity, I feel like I’m about to plunge down a hill on a roller coaster. Toni’s eyes flutter closed, her face goes blank, and it’s clear that something incredible is going to happen. (Hmm, that sounds sorta like a different event, doesn’t it? Ahem.)

I don’t know how she does it week after week — bringing to life not one character but five, one of which (Gimme) is little more than a bundle of primal instincts. And one of which is a man. Yeah, Buck is a redneck and kind of a jerk, but I still find it sexy when Toni gets her swagger on.

And isn’t it amazing that she’s able to make Alice (a ’50s housewife) so very different from the similar character she played in The Hours?

Somehow, she makes each identity a full character, while also making it clear that the character is just a part of Tara — who’s way more interesting despite being less “colorful.” In every episode, there’s so much going on in Toni’s eyes, her body language, her voice … I don’t know what to pay attention to. So I just let myself get caught up in all of her.

I guess that’s the “extra” thing she offers: depth. Funny is sexy, smart is sexy, and talented is sexy — and all of them at once? As they might say on SNL, “Please, my little friend, it’s too sexy! Too sexy!”

So this week, I’m just going to continue to revel in the Toni-ness, and ignore the news that Tara’s showrunner has quit. It may mean nothing, and as the Tara theme song says, we’ll be just fine if we learn to love the ride.