Of course, this doesn't stop us from defining ourselves based on the external marks of our prosperity and well-being, and this is why Friends with Money feels so steeped in melancholy. By culminating in Olivia admitting in words something we've known since the first scene, "I have problems, too," the film's narrative privileges the idea that the verbal acknowledgement of a problem constitutes growth.

This carries the very real suggestion that maybe America is broken. Maybe in modern society, built as it is from words and ideas, true happiness is impossible, or at least maybe it's not what we really want. Consider Franny, for example: she's the one character who is happy and content, but she's portrayed as a bit ridiculous.

Friends with Money is about successful, wealthy women. Unlike many films about the upper class, though, it's message isn't simply "rich people have problems, too." By showing us these distressed characters who have achieved the goals that the rest of us strive towards, it implies that maybe there's a serious problem endemic to these goals.

Jane's realization that fulfilling her dream has left her nothing more to work for and feeling "like she's just waiting to die" is extraordinarily depressing because it's unlikely to convince anyone in the audience to reconsider their own ambitions. Money may not buy happiness, but it's still a buyer's market.

This is a bitter pill made even harder to swallow by the film's glossy, cheerful packaging. Friends with Money is a fine film, with an excellent script and a wonderful cast. But be prepared: like a cup of chamomile tea that contains a drop of arsenic, it's not easy to digest.