Movie Review: Tesla (2020)

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One of the most difficult things to convey onscreen is human thought, particularly what happens when an epiphany washes over us. We do, of course, have an accepted shorthand for these moments in animation. Most commonly depicted by the image of a lightbulb going off above a character's head, we watch as their eyes widen, perhaps a finger is raised, and then they run to go put their ideas into motion. Taken together, these actions are easily understood; we know we've witnessed intellectual serendipity. 

And while we've all seen actors attempt to externalize the internal onscreen – usually with the camera closing in on their faces before pulling back to see them start working on a new, grand opus – there are only a precious few actors who we routinely believe we are seeing think in character. It's a short list, to be sure, but one man who is definitely on it is Ethan Hawke.

One of those actors whom you believe that – for both good and bad, depending upon the project – has the soul of a philosopher, a musician, and an inventor, we've seen Hawke triumph when he collaborates with a filmmaker who knows how to "play" him like Chet Baker played his trumpet . . . or Hawke played Baker playing his trumpet in Robert Budreau's "Born to Be Blue."

Still, while he's worked so well with iconoclastic writer-director Michael Almereyda in the past – most notably on his controversial "Hamlet" adaptation in 2000 – their latest effort "Tesla" feels more like a jam session played on rusty instruments by an out-of-practice jazz band than it does the smooth, rich, wrap you in velvet sound of musicians who are perfectly in sync. 

It's a damn shame, too, because if anybody knows how to bring a lightbulb moment to life, it's Hawke, so when it was announced that he was going to be playing a man who literally played with electricity, expectations for "Tesla" were set unbelievably high.

The first time we see Nikola Tesla (Hawke) in Almereyda's unconventional biopic, he is wobbling around on roller skates, which is an apt metaphor for the film overall. Awkwardly trying to keep his balance in formal wear, Tesla skates along with his friend, the daughter of J.P. Morgan, Anne Morgan (Eve Hewson), who wishes she could be so much more to the shy inventor. So undone by the sight of pearls on a woman's neck because it reminds him of his mother back in Serbia, (who, for all intents and purposes is the only woman he ever loved), their relationship is doomed long before he ever put on those skates.

Wedded to his pursuits and only very casually intrigued by women from a platonic perspective, Tesla puts everything he has into his work with alternating currents – a practice which alienates his first big American employer, Thomas Edison (a sublime Kyle MacLachlan) – before he eventually finds a patron and financial champion in George Westinghouse (Jim Gaffigan).

Coming off the heels of Alfonso Gomez-Rejon's underrated 2017 film "The Current War," which chronicled the same three figures (with Nicholas Hoult, Benedict Cumberbatch, and Michael Shannon playing Tesla, Edison, and Westinghouse respectively) and was finally released to little fanfare last year, I was somewhat familiar with "Tesla"'s turn-of-the-century electrical terrain.

And while the first act of the film is very engaging – especially with a surprisingly vulnerable turn by MacLachlan and moving supporting work by Ebon Moss-Bachrach as Tesla's best friend from overseas, the hard-working but creatively stymied Anital Szigeti – it's a bad sign when your film happens to be called "Tesla" and the least compelling character in the film is also named Tesla.

As subdued as he is single-minded in his quest, Nikola Tesla is on paper, at least, a perfect character for Ethan Hawke. A highly verbal actor, Hawke sometimes gives his most affecting performances when he's limited by how much he can say since it's in such a stark contrast to his most famous onscreen alter-ego as Jesse Wallace in Richard Linklater's "Before" trilogy. 

Yet whereas Paul Schrader knew exactly how to balance the pathos and conflict just below his reverend's collar in "First Reformed," he flounders in this film so much that he nearly blends in with the scenery. And in "Tesla" this is a feat in and of itself considering that, in paying homage to Derek Jarman's minimalist production design in "Edward II" (and other films) and Denmark's Dogme 95 filmmakers, "Tesla" frequently opts for basic projected backdrops you might find surfing the web instead of artfully decorated spaces.

An experimental biopic that (shockingly) isn't weird enough to break any new ground, save for a truly puzzling performance by Hawke as Tesla of the Tears for Fears song "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" toward the end of the movie – which made me wonder why we hadn't seen that level of innovation before – Almereyda's film is an overall yawn.

Struggling to hold our attention as it drones on and away from Edison, who is the most fascinating figure in the film, I found myself fighting to stay awake even though I watched it the very first thing in the morning. A long-gestating passion project from the director, who penned his earliest version of the script in the early 1980s, regrettably the 2020 filmed version of "Tesla" is sorely lacking the same level of youthful enthusiasm that Almereyda had for it nearly forty years ago.

The first onscreen reunion of MacLachlan and Hawke since they played Claudius and Hamlet in Almereyda's 2000 film, the two crackle with electricity in the few scenes they share here, whether they're sparring verbally or with ice cream cones (don't ask). And while it's always hard to showcase creative thought, when it comes right down to it, no matter how hard Almereyda tries to flick the switch for Hawke in "Tesla," this is one bulb that never lights up.


Text ©2020, Film Intuition, LLC; All Rights Reserved. https://www.filmintuition.com  Unauthorized Reproduction or Publication Elsewhere is Strictly Prohibited and in violation of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act.  Also, as an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases made off my site through ad links. FTC Disclosure: Per standard professional practice, I may have received a review copy or screener link of this title to voluntarily decide to evaluate it for my readers, which had no impact whatsoever on whether or not it received a favorable or unfavorable critique. Cookies Notice: This site incorporates tools (including advertiser partners and widgets) that use cookies and may collect some personal information to display ads tailored to you etc. Please be advised that neither Film Intuition nor its site owner has any access to this data beyond general site statistics (geographical region etc.) as your privacy is our main concern.

Short Takes: The Sin of Nora Moran (1933) - Blu-ray Review

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A stark 180 degree turn from the kind of material that she'd been hired to write in 1926 as the first female comedy gag writer for Universal Studios, screenwriter Frances Hyland's 1933 pre-Code tragedy "The Sin of Nora Moran" was initially intended as a straightforward chronicle of the events leading up to the execution of its twenty-one-year-old titular main character.

Over the course of a (then-shocking) five-month production schedule, director Phil Goldstone's small poverty row studio picture was shot and chopped as "Woman in the Chair" in one early incarnation before it was shot and chopped again into its experimental final cut.

Not content to color inside the lines of the B grade productions being made at the time, Goldstone and company wove everything they shot into a nonlinear tapestry of flashbacks within flashbacks, designed to shake up the novel-on-film style status quo. A decidedly new approach to storytelling, the unorthodox techniques used in layering together multiple plotlines and points-of-view help hide the otherwise pretty standard depression-era formula about a woman who's led astray by happenstance, misfortune, and of course, love.

Brought vibrantly to life by the acclaimed Austrian-American Broadway actress Zita Johann, who used a spiritual, pre-Stanislavski Method like process to get into character, which called on mysticism and the occult, Johann's performance as a woman who becomes something close to a martyr for love is utterly riveting. 

Taken in tandem with Hyland's strong female-centric narrative as well as the then scandalously sexual image of a slip-clad woman curled up in a ball as if getting ready to be thrown in the trash (which was captured for the poster by Peruvian painter Alberto Vargas), Johann's complex portrait of a woman still fascinates. Caught between a rock and a hard place halfway between hypocrisy and contradiction, Johann never loses our interest, even though the same cannot be said for the movie overall.

Still, ideally suited to film scholars curious to dissect Hyland and Goldstone's adventures in nonlinear storytelling as well as those eager to explore the range of the '30s star perhaps most famous for her role opposite Boris Karloff in "The Mummy," "Nora Moran" has never looked better than it does in this new Blu-ray Film Detective presentation of the UCLA restored pre-Code.

Text ©2020, Film Intuition, LLC; All Rights Reserved. https://www.filmintuition.com  Unauthorized Reproduction or Publication Elsewhere is Strictly Prohibited and in violation of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act.  Also, as an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases made off my site through ad links. FTC Disclosure: Per standard professional practice, I may have received a review copy or screener link of this title to voluntarily decide to evaluate it for my readers, which had no impact whatsoever on whether or not it received a favorable or unfavorable critique. Cookies Notice: This site incorporates tools (including advertiser partners and widgets) that use cookies and may collect some personal information to display ads tailored to you etc. Please be advised that neither Film Intuition nor its site owner has any access to this data beyond general site statistics (geographical region etc.) as your privacy is our main concern.

Film Movement Movie Review: A White, White Day (2019)

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According to eight-year-old Salka (Ída Mekkín Hlynsdóttir), when the composer Robert Schumann found out that his wife Clara had had an affair with Johannes Brahms, he jumped to his death. And while the facts surrounding classical music's most enigmatic love triangle are a bit more complicated than the young girl's description, the story hits her beloved grandfather Ingimundur (Ingvar Sigurdsson) harder than she ever could have imagined in “A White, White Day.”

Introduced to the widowed Icelandic police chief after his wife dies in the opening sequence of the movie when her car plows off a mountain road and she plummets to her death, in Ingimundur, we meet a man that is trying his best to keep his head down and get by from one day to the next.

Bringing this to life in a vivid montage where he tries to distract himself from his loss by building a home for his daughter and granddaughter, writer-director Hlynur Palmason's film focuses on the sunlight of one day that fades into the darkness of the night again and again as he uses this technique to illustrate the passage of time.

The first of many dialogue-free sequences which use images, body language, and behavior to bring us deeper into Ingimundur's world, we soon learn that beneath his quiet exterior exists an ocean of rage below the surface that begins to rise when just like Schumann, he realizes that his beautiful younger wife (Sara Dögg Ásgeirsdóttir) may have been involved with a Brahms of her own. Sorting through a box of her belongings that an old co-worker drops off at his house, he's shocked when he discovers not only his wife's old Mini DV camera but a cassette which shows her in a romantic tryst with another man whom he is determined to track down.

Less a conventional thriller than a psychological portrait of a man caught between the planes of heartbreak and scorn, while I'd be fascinated to see what somebody like Paul Schrader might’ve done with this material, it's clear that Palmason is less concerned with telling a palatable story than he is just eager to spend time in the same space as his lead overall.

A somewhat frustrating, meandering, and at times, unfocused film, in “A White, White Day,” we spend nearly a full hour watching Ingimundur drive around, shower, and breathe in and out, until Palmason, at last, decides that it's time to follow through on the dilemma he presented early on.

More in love with his own technique than he is truly able to deduce what he needs to make the best film that he can, Palmason moves from ambiguous scenes to overt sign-posting most evident in a bizarre sequence that fills the screen with images from a faux experimental children's TV show where he spells out the film's larger themes in the weirdest of ways. 

Buoyed by a tremendous turn by Sigurdsson and a second-half that is light years better than the first, while the film is beautifully made and the score by composer Edmund Finnis is as gorgeous as Maria von Hausswolff's cinematography, in the end, it's no match for the story of Schuman and Brahms as distilled down to its very essence by an eight-year-old. 

Text ©2020, Film Intuition, LLC; All Rights Reserved. https://www.filmintuition.com  Unauthorized Reproduction or Publication Elsewhere is Strictly Prohibited and in violation of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act.  Also, as an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases made off my site through ad links. FTC Disclosure: Per standard professional practice, I may have received a review copy or screener link of this title to voluntarily decide to evaluate it for my readers, which had no impact whatsoever on whether or not it received a favorable or unfavorable critique. Cookies Notice: This site incorporates tools (including advertiser partners and widgets) that use cookies and may collect some personal information to display ads tailored to you etc. Please be advised that neither Film Intuition nor its site owner has any access to this data beyond general site statistics (geographical region etc.) as your privacy is our main concern.

Movie Review: Sputnik (2020)

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“Sputnik” is a work of Russian space horror that takes place in 1983 – it has to be 1983. Not only is that, as the film's director Egor Abramenko acknowledges, the “golden age” of science fiction as “Sputnik” shares a direct lineage to Ridley Scott's masterful “Alien,” but it's also the ideal time for its allegory about the complexities of identity to pay off on the upcoming fall of the Soviet Union. Additionally, 1983 was the peak time after the rise of astronauts in the space race – both in Russia and here in the states – where kids grew up dreaming of being one of those chosen few, the heroic explorers who represented their country and the entire planet as they journeyed into outer space.

This was before the devastation of the Challenger explosion in 1986 and before kids were old enough to see some of the (then) contemporary works of space horror from “2001: A Space Odyssey” to the 1978 remake of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” (before its director Philip Kaufman would go on to make the brilliant, flag-waving space docudrama “The Right Stuff”) to “Alien” and beyond. Not only brilliant works of existential science fiction, these films serve as cautionary tales, warning us that perhaps not all of the life forms that awaited us in space were as friendly as the one in “E.T.”

In setting his film in 1983, Abramenko taps into all of these contradictions, including the desire to answer that childlike call in all of us to be a pioneering national hero and the body horror that occurs in its protagonist as a result that is so perfectly suited to '83. 

Written by Oleg Malovichko and Andrei Zolotarev (and inspired by Abramenko's short film “The Passenger,” penned by Roman Volobuev, which played at Fantastic Fest), “Sputnik” tells the story of the sole survivor of a space wreck. Chronicling the crash of the Orbita 4 spaceship at the start of the film, after the ship lands, Russian cosmonaut Konstantin Veshnyakov (played by Pyotr Fyodorov) is held under observation in a secure facility in Kazakhstan while scientists work to deduce exactly what happened and what if anything might be wrong with the man who walked away. 

Having traveled to Moscow to recruit risk-taking neuro-psychiatrist Tatyana Klimova (Oksana Akinshina) to evaluate the man with promises that he'll take care of her ethics board inquiry from the health ministry, Semiradov (Fedor Bondarchuk) listens to Tatyana's cursory diagnosis that the cosmonaut is suffering from PTSD, knowing full well that the riddle that is Konstantin becomes far more complex by nightfall. Left in the dark right along with Tatyana, we soon discover that although the cosmonaut arrived back on Earth alone, he is very much not alone in a truly shocking reveal that's as disturbing as it is a genuine throwback to the type of space and/or body horror fare we saw in the late 1970s through the early '80s.

An intelligent puzzle that grows progressively scarier as it continues, while the film lays on some of the psychoanalysis regarding the root of the man's troubles a little heavily (and far too early, when it could certainly use one more twist before its thrilling climax), “Sputnik” is still one sophisticated scarer, overall. 

Exceedingly well-crafted and featuring chilling antiseptic production design that's heavy on barriers, mirrors, glass, and mazes – all of which become, in Abramenko's hands, an effectively symbolic motif – "Sputnik" benefits from its uniformly excellent cast, particularly Fyodorov and Akinshina who ably carry the film. Infused with an intense, percussion-heavy score from composer Oleg Karpachev that feels at once both well-suited to this film as it also does very reminiscent of the scores of 1983, “Sputnik” is a damn strong calling card for Abramenko in an assured feature filmmaking debut.

The latest in a long line of films that were inspired by “Alien,” from a quality standpoint, “Sputnik” belongs to the upper echelon of these movies and I appreciate just how much it paid tribute to and deviated from the blueprint that is the Ridley Scott classic. 

Frustratingly never paying off on a twist involving one of our main characters that it foreshadows but then abandons, “Sputnik” admittedly does start to run out of gas in the last half of the film. Polished and unrelenting nonetheless, it remains gripping enough to hold your attention as we watch the scientists try to figure out who the real Konstantin is deep down and how to separate the “passenger” from its host for good.

Trying (and at times struggling) to juggle both horror and allegorical satire, Abramenko's film is intriguing from a historical perspective as well. Watching its leads question the ethics involved in their work as they wonder if they should report their superiors when things fall apart (just like the Soviet Union would eight years later), Abramenko's “Sputnik” plays especially well to kids who remember the '80s and dreamed of going to space, before Hollywood informed them that the greatest risk might come from within. 

Text ©2020, Film Intuition, LLC; All Rights Reserved. https://www.filmintuition.com  Unauthorized Reproduction or Publication Elsewhere is Strictly Prohibited and in violation of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act.  Also, as an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases made off my site through ad links. FTC Disclosure: Per standard professional practice, I may have received a review copy or screener link of this title to voluntarily decide to evaluate it for my readers, which had no impact whatsoever on whether or not it received a favorable or unfavorable critique. Cookies Notice: This site incorporates tools (including advertiser partners and widgets) that use cookies and may collect some personal information to display ads tailored to you etc. Please be advised that neither Film Intuition nor its site owner has any access to this data beyond general site statistics (geographical region etc.) as your privacy is our main concern.

Movie Review: Made In Italy (2020)

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For Jack (Micheál Richardson), getting divorced means more than just changing residences. Having managed the swanky London art gallery owned by his in-laws for years, Jack is in for a rude awakening when his ex-wife-to-be Ruth (Yolanda Kettle) informs him that not only will he be out of a job as soon as the ink on the divorce decree dries but the art gallery he knows and loves is going on the market for sale.

Begging Ruth not to sell the gallery out from under him, Jack embarks on a quest to seek out the funds he needs to purchase the place from his estranged father Robert (Liam Neeson). Whereas Jack's a level-headed optimist, his carefree painter father's head is always the clouds. And their differences are magnified as they travel to the village of Monticello Amiata in the Grosseto province of Tuscany, Italy to check on and sell the palazzo they'd inherited from Jack's mother and Robert's late wife, Raffaella (Helena Antonio). Arriving in the dead of night, they discover not the pristine villa that Jack barely remembers from his youth but the ornate Tuscan equivalent of a falling down shack, complete with no electricity, and a weasel in the bathroom.

An obvious metaphor for the men's need to repair their relationship and deal with their repressed grief over the tragic loss of Raffaella when Jack was a young boy, as the two get to work fixing up the villa with the help of some locals, they begin to break down their own walls as well.

Meeting cute with the lovely chef and trattoria owner Natalia (Valeria Bilello), Jack strikes up a friendship with romantic potential that much like the villa, also pays off on his need to face the past, since she's a loving mother of a daughter who's only slightly older than Jack was when he lost his mom.

Although inevitably, some will call this the male version of the 2003 film “Under the Tuscan Sun” from director Audrey Wells (just like they did when Russell Crowe fixed up a relative's residence in France in the 2006 Ridley Scott movie “A Good Year”), this one hits a bit harder than the rest from an emotional standpoint overall.

Located roughly ninety-five minutes away from the gorgeous Villa Laura just outside the walls of Cortona in Tuscany where Diane Lane impulsively moved in “Under the Tuscan Sun,” the vibrant scenic views of Monticello Amiata in “Made in Italy” are undeniably eye-catching.

Yet more than just a romantic travelogue, since the tragedy at the core of “Italy” closely resembles the sudden shocking loss of Liam Neeson's wife and his onscreen (and offscreen) son Micheál Richardson's mother Natasha Richardson, when the two gifted actors angrily confront one another over a loved one's death and how to grieve, it cuts extremely close to the bone. And while Neeson and Richardson have revealed that they felt like sublimating and addressing their pain through art was cathartic, it's nonetheless heartbreaking to watch.

This plot point aside, however, writer-director James D'Arcy's film remains an otherwise pleasant, airy, lighthearted, perfect for the dog days of summer trifle, just like “Tuscan Sun” and “A Good Year.” Undeniably predictable, of course, it still warms the heart just like a bowl of risotto made with love.

Text ©2020, Film Intuition, LLC; All Rights Reserved. https://www.filmintuition.com  Unauthorized Reproduction or Publication Elsewhere is Strictly Prohibited and in violation of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act.  Also, as an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases made off my site through ad links. FTC Disclosure: Per standard professional practice, I may have received a review copy or screener link of this title to voluntarily decide to evaluate it for my readers, which had no impact whatsoever on whether or not it received a favorable or unfavorable critique. Cookies Notice: This site incorporates tools (including advertiser partners and widgets) that use cookies and may collect some personal information to display ads tailored to you etc. Please be advised that neither Film Intuition nor its site owner has any access to this data beyond general site statistics (geographical region etc.) as your privacy is our main concern.

Movie Review: Out Stealing Horses (2019)

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Last month, after seeing and loving director Joseph Losey's 1971 film “The Go-Between,” I was asked on Twitter just what it was about the movie that I responded to so much. 

“It's hard to sum up in a tweet,” I replied and, by way of explanation of the film's finest qualities, added that I admired “the way that it unfolds slowly like a summer's day, brings you back to childhood being in rooms with adults having conversations you don't fully understand, coming-of-age and discovering love.”

And although those remarks described my reaction to “The Go-Between,” intriguingly, when I watched “Out Stealing Horses” this week to review, I realized that while writer-director Hans Petter Moland's adaptation of the bestselling book by Per Petterson was in no way as narratively successful as “The Go-Between,” what I loved most about Losey's film is exactly what drew me into this one.

A straightforward adaptation of Petterson's novel, “Out Stealing Horses” centers on Trond (played by the always outstanding Stellan Skarsgård), a sixty-seven-year-old grieving widower who moves out to the Norwegian countryside to live a solitary life. Shortly into the film, he discovers that his new imposing, slightly off neighbor (played by Bjørn Floberg) is none other than the younger brother of his best friend from childhood but since Trond chooses not to acknowledge this, we gather that this reunion is anything but joyous. A framing device shot with drab colors, dim lighting, and a general sense of malaise, the more “modern” sequences set in 1999 never really pull us in quite as well as Trond's recollections of life in the 1940s, which make up a bulk of the film.

With the rich shimmer of cerulean hued water and the lush, deep, jade-colored greenery of the surrounding trees, when fifteen-year-old Trond (Jon Ranes) skims his hand over the lake during the film's extended flashback, “Out Stealing Horses” nearly takes our breath away, thanks to the cinematography of Danish cameraman Rasmus Videbæk. Reveling in nature in a way that recalls the work of master director Terrence Malick, as we watch Trond and his father (a fine Tobias Santelmann) rely on rain for showers, boats for transportation, and trees for their prosperity in their wooded existence, we realize that their work chopping down tall trees serves as a terrific metaphor. 

For, just like the two men clear the woods while logging, with each tree they chop down, Trond begins to see the complexities of life a little more clearly as he comes of age. Following a shocking tragedy in the life of his best friend Jon's (Sjur Vatne Brean) family, which he uncovers on the day the two went “out stealing horses” – which just means going for a ride – Trond begins to realize that things aren't always what they seem. 

And this certainly hits home when his father insists that Trond's mother and sister should not join them in the countryside and Trond realizes this rule doesn't apply to all women. Observing but failing to fully process his father's closeness to Jon's mother (Danica Curcic) since – at the exact same time – he's developed a crush on the beautiful married woman as well, “Out Stealing Horses” is a languid yet engrossing account of a fateful summer.

As specifically tied to its time and place as the film is, just like Losey's “Go-Between,” and many other contemplative chronicles of an adolescent being thrust into adulthood when they realize that the most important people in their life are flawed individuals of flesh and blood, the thoughts and feelings that Moland's film conveys are universally relatable. Additionally, by emphasizing the ways that the events of our life – and in particular our role models – can shape us whether we want them to or not, the film will undoubtedly make us think about some of the big early turning points of our lives, which occurred before we could truly understand their significance or impact on others. 

Structurally challenged, while it takes a good half-hour or so to truly become invested in the plight of its characters since the 1999 sequences seem to belong to an entirely different movie, overall, it's an uneven yet ultimately compelling work anchored by Videbæk's romantic cinematography and uniformly strong turns by Ranes and Santelmann, in particular.

The fifth collaboration between Moland and Skarsgård might not be as thrillingly riveting as “In Order of Disappearance,” (which Moland later remade in the states with Liam Neeson as “Cold Pursuit”) or as emotionally draining as “Aberdeen,” but it's still an intensely personal work for the filmmaker.

A moderately cogent adaptation of Petterson's novel, which has been translated into more than fifty languages, the film's shortcomings left me wanting to read the book to get the full impact of the storyline. Yet Moland deserves credit nonetheless for transforming this very Norwegian tale into an emotional saga that we all can feel a kinship with even if we've never showered in the rain or chopped down a tree a day in our life.

Though hindered by the pacing of its opening act, “Out Stealing Horses” is at its best when it flashes back to Trond's life as he moves between childhood and adulthood and discovers the gray between the black and white that exists out there in the countryside amid all that blue and green.

Text ©2020, Film Intuition, LLC; All Rights Reserved. https://www.filmintuition.com  Unauthorized Reproduction or Publication Elsewhere is Strictly Prohibited and in violation of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act.  Also, as an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases made off my site through ad links. FTC Disclosure: Per standard professional practice, I may have received a review copy or screener link of this title to voluntarily decide to evaluate it for my readers, which had no impact whatsoever on whether or not it received a favorable or unfavorable critique. Cookies Notice: This site incorporates tools (including advertiser partners and widgets) that use cookies and may collect some personal information to display ads tailored to you etc. Please be advised that neither Film Intuition nor its site owner has any access to this data beyond general site statistics (geographical region etc.) as your privacy is our main concern.