Just finished reading my second memoir in a row, this time it was The Film Club by David Gilmour (not the Pink Floyd guitarist). Gilmour, the father, lets his son drop out of school provided he watches three movies a week with his dad. The best part of the book is the writing about the films, the most intriguing of which are Notorious, Citizen Kane, and The 400 Blows. The problem with the book is the relationship between father and son. I don’t care. Maybe it’s because I don’t have a kid yet, that is still a year or two away. But Gilmour’s writing about how he tries to converse with his lazy son does not make for interesting reading. It is nothing out of the ordinary, exceptional, and definitely does not deserve its own published memoir. The son just needed a big kick in the ass, not permission to wake up late, act like a slob, and get slightly scolded when he imbibed cocaine.