For a movie that's built off a foundation made of a story about a sex tape involving a guy named Bubba The Love Sponge, I didn't expect to get chills. It bites off SOOOO much. Enough for an OJ-length miniseries about the state of the free press in the Trump era and how we got there, certainly, and tries its best to boil it down into a <2 hour movie without giving you whiplash. It *mostly* succeeds, ultimately expanding its strange cross-section of journalistic integrity and profane tabloid culture into something much greater: a celebration and rallying cry for a free press in trying times, so obviously effective and moving that the final minutes could be a New York Times Super Bowl commercial. Then again, maybe that's just what we need.