A sensitive, intelligent, unpretentious delight that recalls the humanist filmmaking of Kelly Reichardt, Mike White and Jonathan Demme. They're not necessarily similar, but the warmth and literary qualities of this make it a worthy women-centric counterpart to Call Me By Your Name.
This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
I haven't had time to write a full review of this as I only saw it not 12 hours ago, but I can't help but jot down something about Passengers' unpleasant undercurrent. Rewatching the trailers and marketing material, I couldn't believe how misleading they were about something very important to the film's core premise:
Only Chris Pratt's Jim woke up early due to a malfunction on the ship. The first solid half hour is him moping about the Avalon starship,…
If the right director made this (maybe Harmony Korine?), you might call it a postmodern monument to masculine insecurity and the way it manifests itself as devaluation and denigration of anyone who looks, sounds or acts outside their patriarchal hegemony. But no, this masturbatory movie lacks any self-awareness - or, in fact, awareness whatsoever - and thinks they're just a group of bros who are totally cool bros to each other at the centre of one of the most woefully tone deaf Hollywood pseudo-satires in recent memory.