only something in one’s family. The
only failure, the
only daughter, the
only one with no artistic talent these are traits that, whether incontrovertible or questionable, are clutched like well-earned badges of honor by the Meyerowitz brood. The siblings fling their Purple Hearts with reckless abandon, sometimes to curry favor and other times to wound. These battles play out for the benefit of a father who, as the children should know by now, is too self-absorbed to really take notice. But a win, no matter how Pyrrhic, is still a win. In the never-ending battle of the sibling, the stats matter.