benschmidt’s review published on Letterboxd:
I haven't seen any of The Romanoffs, but this felt like what I imagine an episode of that to be if written by a student in a freshman comp class. Barely a step above a Hallmark Channel TV movie. If ever there was an alley-oop moment for a story that tackles a man taking credit for a lifetime of a woman's work, 2018 would be it, but the movie has the subtlety of a toddler and can't begin to approach poignancy. Some moments of utter stupidity ("A blowhard writer and a stoic wife? Come now son, it's a cliche!!"), some obviously telegraphed (the least subtle almost affair; the woman writer "don't do it!!"), some cloyingly sentimental or convenient (their first big fight results in the telephone ringing to find their grandson is born, the second leads to a heart attack...?). But of course, there is also shouting! Yes, shouting! And knocking books over! Surely this signifies importance! Themes!!
Glenn Close does some ok things, but she's always trapped in this horrible script and the horrible TV-look of the thing. There's the look of horror as he recognizes her from the stage, and the "You say you're wife isn't A WRITER?!?!" moments. I think the praise is wildly overblown and is as obvious of a career "Whoops we never crowned you" makeup as there is. Boy this was bad.
Oh, and the son. I hate absolutely everything with the son. He's written like a 12 year old and played by a 30 year old. Holy hell.
"I can't live without you!"
"Why is life so unfair?!?"
These are supposed to be writers saying these things. Ok I'm done.