Mark Allen’s review published on Letterboxd :
Maybe my favourite Swanberg picture yet, though perhaps that's why the star rating is so high. None of his films have blown me away, but SILVER BULLETS (along with, say, HANNAH TAKES THE STAIRS) feels like the writer-director's articulating exactly what he wants to say with both economy and honesty.
Or, in the case of SILVER BULLETS' characters, dishonesty. No-one wants to hurt anyone else, but they're not going to purposefully avoid hurting them, either, and the core relationship (between Swanberg's filmmaker and Kate Lyn Sheil's rising star actress) is punctuated by long silences after which discussion of the tensions between them are tossed aside in favour of spontaneous lovemaking.
I admire Swanberg's commitment to these moments, scored by skittish strings that aptly reflect the high anxiety clearly playing out in both characters' minds, along with his willingness to play with formats and let the filmmaking speak as much as his characters. The subtext in this movie isn't very deeply hidden, but it's still rooted in enough human drama (and ironic conversations about 'art') that it's still effective.
All of the director's films feel intensely autobiographical (often uncomfortably so), but SILVER BULLETS feels like the most authentic reflection of his opinion of himself. Which is not to say that he's playing himself but the version of himself he sees, which is far more interesting. Not to mention rather unflattering. This movie's Swanberg is someone who can only truly experience life through a lens, a screen or a pre-fabricated conflict, often remaining perfectly still as he witnesses (more than participates in) these moments. This contrasts wonderfully with Sheil's constantly shifting actor who takes on different personas based on the whims of the person she's with. When she finally does decide to act upon her own impulses, she's rejected, which is something of a pessimistic metaphor when applied to film actors as a whole.
But Swanberg's always going for some kind of melancholy, and in SILVER BULLETS he keeps that from overwhelming the narrative with sentimentality more than other outings. We're left feeling the same way as the characters in a brief epilogue: wondering who was really to blame, whether there was anything they could have done to fix things and, most importantly, if these failed relationships are doomed to repeat themselves.
Which, now that I think about it, is really the meta-narrative of all Swanberg's films.