In an incredible miscalculation, an Irish playwright attempts to exploit a politically charged topic he apparently knows nothing about as window dressing for a story of grief. A great illustration of how the wrong narrative context can overwhelm and negate a film's core themes in the viewer's mind.
A main performance that's fascinating because of its failure: feels like Denzel spent a year studying introverts and aping their mannerisms, but there's no way I can believe him as the character.
I do think I admired this movie for the courage to wrestle with its central ideas, despite the risk of dipping into sentimentality or tackiness.
Ideal screening conditions for this, projected on 16mm in the back of the Oddball Films archive, at the conclusion of which the curator uttered, "I have no idea where he got a fucking grant to do that," and walked out, never to be heard from again.
You can watch it on Vimeo if you wish: vimeo.com/131832976