[One scene] reminded me of Nicole Kidman in Birth, another movie where a widow reckons with her husband’s ghost. But these glimpses are brief. Soon it’s back to her dull tête-à-têtes with journalists, confidantes, or an impish Irish priest, each strewn with platitudes and drenched in magic hour lighting. The dialogue flails toward the concept of national memory; it induces nothing like the morbid twinge of seeing a former First Lady sink into campy despair.
February 09, 2017