For 129 minutes, the defaults to the most pedestrian narrative turns imaginable.
When Enola Holmes teeters, it’s due to an unwillingness to commit to an audience.
Gavin Hood wrings suspense out of the parsing of the nuances of evidence and the tapping of mysterious contacts.
It ignores the delights and hardships of becoming an artist in lieu of simply presenting the long-touted liberating effects of art.
45 Years is basically a showcase for Haigh’s finely tuned screenplay and the performances of its two leads.
As sumptuous as it is immensely shallow, the film practically revels in its attention to lush English landscapes as a means to distract from its derivative storytelling.