From desk drawer whiskey to filing cabinet beer, probably a whole essay could be written just on the drinks: offered and accepted (Charlotte Rampling is offered many, refuses only once), poured and ignored, ordered and bogarted, sipped carefully off the table, swallowed surreptitiously mid-phone call, gulped victoriously mid-pinball game, with an egg for breakfast, with an embrace and a kiss and ice cubes clinking, with a big check in fine glasses, in a back booth alone and waiting, spilled on a hotel room floor next to the bed.
Lots to love: great performances across the board (Brenda J. Wyatt! Mal's dad!), scenes developing over long shots and single takes, the economy of close-ups, the careful structure and writing — every detail plants a seed or offers another layer of character.
(My two favorite little reveals: cooling clam chowder beckoning unseen from the next room and the secret coat hanging spot.)