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By shooting the fiction sequences with the same dreamy fish-eye unreality as the scenes showing O’Connor’s real life... the film blurs the line between the two until it’s almost nonexistent... Wildcat effectively shows how for O’Connor the mystery, pain, and loneliness generated by her writing pursuits are twined so closely with her agonized faith.

[Wildcat] is less a biopic of O’Connor than a work of criticism... Through the film, the clearness of [the writer's] artistic vision contrasts with personal turmoil, yielding a dreamy movie (a bit reminiscent of Shirley, about Shirley Jackson) that evokes O’Connor’s biggest project: an inquiry into the broken nature of grace.

Wildcat is neither for diehard Flannery fans, who will be expecting both more fire from Hawke’s performance and a more inventive narrative from the director; nor is the film for a more general commercial audience, who will surely be bored to tears.

An inventive cinematic biography... There is no shortage of voiceovers [in Wildcat], but it’s hard to complain when the words are as insightful and cutting as O’Connor’s.

“Wildcat” tries to do a lot, perhaps too much, in its melding of adaptations and biography, and the pacing suffers. Short stories have a tight, controlled gait, whereas biographies are more expansive, taking place over several years. The film, thus, has a splintered, stop-and-start feeling throughout.

Hawke is a wonderful actor with seemingly no idea how to guide or reign in those he directs... One hopes Wildcat can disappear into thin air so that it doesn’t have to weigh on Hawke’s legacy.

Despite Maya Hawke throwing herself headfirst into the part, her father’s attempts to capture O’Connor’s mind, body, and soul end up feeling incomplete... “Wildcat” is too tame in its portrayal of suffering to let its Catholic undertones sing or take powerful cinematic form, resulting in a work where paradoxes are half-baked dilemmas that seem too conveniently solved, and life itself is something that happens far off-screen.

For as much care and passion that the Hawkes put into Wildcat, the film never knows what it wants to be or even what audience it wants to be speaking to. Most of the approach ends up feeling rather aimless before cutting to the credits at the most abrupt moment, still leaving the audience in the dark about what they were supposed to take away from the experience.

Though Ethan’s fandom for a literary genius comes across loud and clear, he’s ultimately doing a disservice to her prose by reinforcing a reductive misconception about scribes: that inspiration, the ineffable alchemy he wants to pin down with his inquest into the crannies of the mind, boils down to plucking the right elements from your immediate surroundings and simply plugging them into narrative.

[Wildcat] feels like [Hawke's] most ambitious drama, a movie that doesn’t just hit events in the life of its subject but digs deep into what influenced her work. Maya Hawke proves she can carry a film... in a drama that should definitely appeal to fans of O’Connor’s work and likely make a few new ones.

[Wildcat] is smart enough to lean into the contradictions of the woman and her work, but not to attempt to offer a definitive statement one way or another.

Drawing upon the distinctive voice of Flannery O’Connor, [Wildcat] is a sublime portrait of a great writer, a movie I can’t wait to see again for its visual elegance, its electric leaps between an author’s life and her work, and the delicious, playful intensity of all the performances, with Maya Hawke and Laura Linney each taking on a half-dozen interconnected roles.