Dead Movie

I saw John Crowley‘s The Goldfinch (Warner Bros., 9.13) last week. Due respect to fans of Donna Tartt’s Pulitzer Prize-winning 2013 novel, but I immediately sensed a lock of cinematic oxygen — no allure, intrigue or fascination. I wanted to leave the theatre, see something else. Maybe get some hot food on Venice Blvd. or hike around Benedict Canyon. Or maybe just leap on the motorcycle and drive blindly. I certainly wanted to escape

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