Heavy-handed grief porn, bnut it does have a fine performance from Mulligan and a terrific one-scene-wonder bit from Michael Shannon.

Prepared to hate this after the gratingly hyperactive scene at Myrtle's pad, but once Leo enters the picture Luhrmann's style settles down and the film turns into a shallow but effective rendition of Gatsby as romantic tragedy.

[C-] Worst. Scientists. Ever. It's Ridley, so it's sleek and handsome, but the script marries Chariots of the Gods horseshit to shlocky horror histrionics (teens in slasher films have more brains than this crew). Wants to make us ponder the big questions, but the only questions are: Why is Guy Pearce in that godawful old-age makeup? What the fuck is the deal with Logan Marshall-Green's character?

Assayas on autopilot. He covered much the same ground in the superior Cold Water, and like many autobiographical coming-of-age tales, less a coherent narrative than a series of episodes.