(Dir. John Crowley) (2015)
This film looks lovely. 1950s Ireland and Brooklyn were never more sumptuous. Here we have a story by the massively respected Colm Tóibín and Nick Hornby, with decent actors and competent direction. It is a sad and moving account of an Irish lass who is sponsored by her parish to work in New York, where she finds love and herself torn between two countries.
Now for the bad news – it is possibly the most boring film in recent memory. The Varnished Culture, and two highly cultured friends, Grant and Melanie, fell asleep at various times during the screening, and no, none of us had been drinking heavily. This was so dull as to be more potent than novocaine, except that the pain fails to vanish. The nicely-lit outdoors scenes on pretty Irish beaches enabled us to check our watches. There is simply no reason to have made this flick, and once made, they should have burnt it and collected the insurance. It joins our Hall of Shame.
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