An editor discovers a novel that she considers to be a masterpiece, in a library whose particularity is to collect the manuscripts refused by the publishers. The text is signed Henri Pick, a Breton pizza maker who died two years earlier.
Dolan's movie creaks and groans and ultimately fizzles under the weight of it's own enormous ambition. And, to be fair, it's beautifully directed. Dolan has great visual stye, invests scenes with great energy and emotion, and gets wonderful performances from a very impressive cast. You can see why Sarandon and Bates and Portman would have placed their faith in him. Unfortunately, the script is too slight to withstand the epic treatment it's given, and the movie runs out of steam before even the halfway mark. It's at least 20 minutes, probably 30 minutes too long. But even a good hard edit wouldn't have saved it. Dolan is certainly a director to watch, but he's going to need better material than this.
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