Johann Rucker’s review published on Letterboxd:
He'd never win a fist fight, but he could recite the Book of Revelation in his sleep.
Not the disaster I anticipated, but just another entry into the canon of would-be-prestige, straight-to-streaming, end-of-summer-but-not-quite-Oscar-season cinema that plagues the Septembers and Octobers of every year. This film clearly wants to be something greater, and it sometimes is, but the end result is an over-directed (re: outright gluttonous) mess of a riff on Robert Altman, that ends up being more Mountain Dew and Butthole Surfers than it does NASHVILLE or THE LONG GOODBYE.
And that's okay, because I fucking love Mountain Dew and the Butthole Surfers. Those things just don't add up to great cinema, imo.