A paint by numbers film about a fascinating subject. Genius could have really tapped into the essence of ego and its inevitable downfall, yet it feels like a series of interesting ideas that never come together. Grandage lacks the vision that this story needed.
Being a fan of Hemingway and Scott Fitzgerald et al. I'm well aware of the contribution that legendary editor Max Perkins to the development of many great writers.
So, against my better judgement I was excited about this film, and in the end I probably raised my expectations too high, and ended up somewhat disappointed. No fault of Firth, he's OK, but it's probably impossible trying to portray a former demi-god.
An undercooked and misjudged mess of the sort that so often results when theatre directors cross over to cinema. The dialogue is surprisingly bad and overblown, given John Logan is a more than capable screenwriter. Jude Law is at his hammiest and is only the most discordant of a whole series of bum notes in the film. It also clearly looks a British approximation of America. Bad middlebrow stuff.