80 year old Alexandra has barricaded herself in her Brooklyn brownstone. Scattered around the otherwise cozy room are dozens of wine bottles, Mason jars and other assorted receptacles, all of which have been turned into Molotov cocktails. It is clear that should anyone attempt to remove her forcibly from the premises, the premises — and perhaps half the block — will be going with her.
Alexandra’s Alamo is breached by an unexpected visitor, her estranged son Chris, who wakes her from her mild doze when he clambers in the window, having climbed a tree. No sooner are the words ‘Hi, Mom’ uttered than the emotional bombs start detonating.