It's just sand in my shorts that's making me cr(ank)y

The movie's entitled Beaches because they didn't have the guts to call it "Bitches."

I remember seeing this not long after my brother died and thinking, this is the worst exploration of loss and grief and resolution you could possibly imagine. Done by someone who has never experienced any of the above.

While at the time it felt as though I were alone in that conclusion, I was heartened to see years later in an episode of Absolutely Fabulous ("Death," 1994), one of the guest characters lay waste to the movie's "depth."

Sondra, a particularly unctuous pop psychologist from California ("I brought you a copy of my new book, Hey! It's Great to Grieve!"), noted that she, too, had felt great sadness in her life.

"You are talking to someone who has sat through Beaches twelve times."

Yep, that would count as profound suffering in my book. I'd be crying endlessly for sure, mostly at having been tortured by all the schlock and histrionics.  

Beaches gives a whole new meaning to the term "water-bored-ing."