Danny Strong’s film suggests dramatic Tetris, and it leeches J.D. Salinger and his process of any mystery.
The pyrotechnics succeed only at reinforcing West’s macho bona fides and condescendingly forcing Statham back into his wheelhouse.
Never once does it project an intuitive understanding of how humans would behave or react in the midst of such a shattering misfortune.
Fails not so much because of its occasional didacticism than it does from a scattered plot that makes the story’s overriding theme or message difficult to grasp.
I have reservations about the packaging, but this is a decent transfer of a lovingly detail-oriented period melodrama, from one of its finest contemporary practitioners.
The film squanders its promise for the usual trite, bluntly written, and poorly staged testaments to love and family.