TIME movies

Netflix Inks Deal With Adam Sandler to Produce Four Films

Bloomberg/Getty Images

The Happy Gilmore and Wedding Singer star is set to help Netflix smash the traditional model of movie releases, sending new flicks straight to fans' devices

Netflix has signed a deal with Adam Sandler to star in and produce four films that will premiere exclusively to subscribers of the online-streaming juggernaut.

The deal with Sandler, a longtime comic actor with as many critics’ flops as hits to his name, appears poised to catapult Netflix into a new era of serving not just as a warehouse for movies but also as a bona fide producer of them.

The expected Sandler films are also yet another challenge to traditional cinemas’ reign over the big business of movie premiers, as Netflix threatens to nix the high ticket prices and hyped-up midnight debuts from the process of putting new movies out.

Indeed, Netflix’s latest announcement comes just days after revealed a deal with production house the Weinstein Company to show the sequel to Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon on the streaming website and select IMAX screens.

Chaffing at the Internet heavyweight’s threat to the longtime model of movie releases, two major U.S. cinemas — Regal Cinemas and Chilmark — have said they will not show the film once it is released to the mass cinema market.

Netflix says the first installment of the Sandler films could hit its pages as soon as 2015, Variety reports. The quartet will be produced in collaboration with Sandler’s own production house, Happy Madison Productions.

“When these fine people came to me with an offer to make four movies for them, I immediately said yes for one reason and one reason only … Netflix rhymes with Wet Chicks,” said Sandler in a statement. “Let the streaming begin!”

Netflix new foray into movies builds on the success of its original television shows, which include the ultra-popular House of Cards and Orange Is the New Black.

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The Third Interstellar Trailer Looks Pretty Epic

There are massive blizzards and explosions and giant waves in outer space!

Information about Christopher Nolan’s much-anticipated next film Interstellar has trickled out slowly over the last several months. But the third trailer gives us a first look at the other worlds Matthew McConaughey and Anne Hathaway’s characters will be exploring, like a planet with waves as large as mountains.

If that doesn’t get your heart pounding, maybe the fact that McConaughey will apparently have to choose between seeing his children again and the fate of the human race will.

The movie hits theaters nationwide Nov. 7, but Paramount will release the film in IMAX two days before that.

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Zombieland Is Getting a Sequel

From left: Zombieland cast Jesse Eisenberg, Emma Stone, Abigail Breslin, and Woody Harrelson Glen Wilson—Columbia Pictures

No word yet on whether Emma Stone, Woody Harrelson and Jesse Eisenberg will return

Zombieland has returned from the dead: The 2009 action-comedy is getting a sequel, Deadline reports. Sony Pictures has hired Dave Callahan (The Expendables) to pen the script, and Ruben Fleischer will return as director.

No word yet on whether the actors from the original cult hit will return, but their paychecks will almost certainly increase if they do: Since 2009, Jesse Eisenberg has starred as Mark Zuckerberg in The Social Network, Emma Stone has taken off in the Amazing Spider-Man films, Abigail Breslin has played opposite Meryl Streep in August: Osage County and Woody Harrelson has earned critical acclaim for his role in HBO’s True Detective. But it would be a coup if Sony could coax back the entire cast plus Bill Murray, who graced the original movie with a cameo.

One reason the now all-star cast might return is that in the five years since Zombieland hit theaters, zombies have only gotten more popular: The Walking Dead is the most-watched show in cable history, World War Z grossed over $540 million worldwide, and even indie films like Warm Bodies and Life After Beth are playing with the trope.


TIME viral

Here’s a Supercut of Men Telling Bad Guys to “Let Her Go” in Action Movies

One of the greatest cinematic cliches of our time

The damsel in distress is one of Hollywood’s best-known (and most sexist) cliches, and the folks over at Huffington Post noticed one little phrase most commonly associated with that role: “Let her go.” Male protagonists utter these words, often in a low, even voice paired with a determined stare, to get the bad guy to free the beautiful lady. This is often followed by a frantic kiss and then a firefight and maybe a small to midsize explosion.

They put together the above supercut to show just how often heroes say this phrase, featuring scenes from movies like Raiders of the Lost Ark, Star Wars, and Men in Black. The full list of movies is here.


TIME movies

Twilight Series to Be Rekindled With Films Released on Facebook

"The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn - Part 2" Panel - Comic-Con International 2012
The cast of The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn participate in Comic-Con International in San Diego on July 12, 2012 Albert L. Ortega—Getty Images

Bella and Edward will return — and these tween idols will be right where you’d expect: on social media

Production house Lionsgate and Twilight series author Stephenie Meyer will rekindle the vampire-themed saga with a series of short films posted on Facebook next year, it was announced Tuesday.

Five aspiring female film directors, selected by a group of female panelists, including Twilight actress Kristen Stewart, will direct the shorts, the New York Times reports.

“We think Facebook is a great way for us to introduce the world of Twilight to a whole new audience while re-energizing existing fans,” Michael Burns, Lionsgate’s vice chairman, told the Times.

The announcement reflects Facebook’s massive user base and its role as a sharing platform, as well hinting at a shake-up in the movie-distribution model toward one that does not involve cinemas or ticket sales.

The news comes just one day after Netflix said it had reached a deal with a production house to develop its first original movie, a sequel to Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, which will be released exclusively on Netflix and in some IMAX theaters.


TIME movies

AMC Theaters Refuses to Show Netflix’s Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon Sequel

Crouching Tiger
Michelle Yeoh will reprise her role as Yu Shu-Lien in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon: The Green Legend Netflix

Regal and Cinemark are also boycotting the movie

AMC Theaters said they will boycott Netflix’s first feature film, a sequel to 2000’s Oscar-winning Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, which the streaming company plans to release both on its website and in select IMAX theaters, many of which are operated by AMC.

AMC joined two other major theater chains, Regal and Cinemark, that are refusing to show Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon: The Green Legend, which Netflix produced with Weinstein Co. In the U.S., AMC has 147 IMAX theaters, according to the Hollywood Reporter. Together, the three chains operate 247 of the 400 IMAX theaters in North America.

Netflix announced Monday that the movie was on its way, set for Aug. 28, 2015. Many believe the streamed movie is Netflix’s attempt at disrupting the traditional movie release cycle in which films migrate from big to small screens.

“AMC Theatres and [its parent company] Wanda Cinema are the largest operators of Imax-equipped auditoriums in the world. We license just the technology from IMAX. Only AMC and Wanda decide what programming plays in our respective theaters. No one has approached us to license this made-for-video sequel in the U.S. or China, so one must assume the screens IMAX committed are in science centers and aquariums,” AMC said.

While AMC’s statement brushed off Netflix’s plan, Regal took a more direct approach in voicing its opposition to Netflix’s apparent attempt to subvert the traditional movie viewing experience. A spokesman said in a statement that “at Regal we will not participate in an experiment where you can see the same product on screens varying from three stories tall to [three inches] wide on a smart phone. We believe the choice for truly enjoying a magnificent movie is clear.”

Still, IMAX CEO Richard Gelfond has defended the company’s decision to partner with Netflix on a simultaneous video-on-demand and movie release, saying he believes the IMAX release will still be successful because of audiences in China, where Netflix is banned, and where IMAX theaters are not operated by the American chains AMC, Regal and Cinemark. Gelfond also emphasized that Netflix, with its new movie model, may be on to something.

“Theaters are our partners, and by bringing additional content to the market, I think it helps the market and I think it’s helping them. I understand change isn’t always the easiest thing in the world, it’s easier to stick with the status quo, but on the other hand, if you don’t try to change you get stuck in a certain place,” Gelfond told The Wrap. “We made our reputation by innovating.”

TIME movies

Review: Men, Women & Children Shows How Sexting Is Ruining America

Men Women Children
Ansel Elgort plays Tim Mooney and Kaitlyn Dever plays Brandy Beltmeyer in Men, Women & Children Paramount

Adam Sandler watches porn, Jennifer Garner wants to wipe out social media and teens are twisted tweeters in Jason Reitman's jeremiad against the 21st century

Adults may think back on the world a decade ago and sigh in nostalgia at its glorious innocence: no Facebook, no Twitter, no carpal tunnel syndrome from spilling every secret to countless online friends and potential predators. The children of those adults may shrug derisively and ask if their parents also miss the wonderful days before cars, phones and indoor plumbing. The luxuries of one generation are the necessities, the addictions of the next. Progress? An omen of the Apocalypse? You decide.

To judge from his new film Men, Women & Children, Jason Reitman expects the fire this time. And social media, which once meant talking and letter-writing, will provide the fuel for the final conflagration. Based on Chad Kultgen’s rather more explicit novel, this off-kilter ensemble dramedy is a plague movie, like Contagion or World War Z: everyone has the same disease but few realize it’s more than a harmless itch. The dread signs — how e-blather can fester into a metaphorical Ebola — are especially rampant among the students in a Texas high school. Some of their parents are infected, too.

Fifteen-year-old Chris Truby (Travis Tope), a connoisseur of online porn since he was 10, has graduated to images so violent and elaborate that he is incapable of sharing an ordinary sex act with a classmate. Allison Doss (Elena Kampouris), pursuing anorexia almost as a religious vocation, gets sideline cheers — “Pretty bitches never eat” — from other girls online with eating disorders. Tim Mooney (Ansel Elgort) has quit as the star of his school’s football team to spend obsessive hours each day in a Guild Wars gaming site. Hannah Clint (Olivia Crocicchia), aiming to translate her blond allure into stardom on a reality show, has posted naughty photos of herself on a “private” site approved by her mom Joan (Judy Greer). They should know that, in the age of an omniscient NSA and a transparent Cloud, nothing is private. Every intimacy is up for grabs.

In this virtual world, the young are the masters (and slaves); parents must learn from their children, or just log onto their kids’ computers. Chris’s dad Don (a paunchy, subdued Adam Sandler) is less appalled than aroused by what he finds there. He and his wife Helen (Rosemarie DeWitt) have fallen out of love and out of sex; they have to schedule it like a rare play date, and when Helen grudgingly notes, “O.K., but it’s gotta be quick,” Don assures her, “It will be.” Restlessness leads him to a call-girl site and her to a dating service. No points for guessing that the married philanderers end up at the same bar.

Another parent, the ramrod Patricia Beltmeyer (Jennifer Garner), has grown suspicious of her daughter Brandy (Kaitlyn Dever) and turned into the hall monitor of the girl’s texts and cell-hone calls. Need we add that Brandy is the movie’s one healthy teen, building a friendship with the disaffected Tim? If Patricia had been the mother of any of the other kids, her snooping might have saved souls. Here, it could end a life.

In his first three features — Thank You for Smoking, Juno and Up in the Air — Reitman proved himself an ace at serious observational comedy. He was too cool to push viewers toward or away from characters whose internal weirdness he figured would be evident to any attentive mind. Then something snapped. Young Adult went wayward as the sketch of a prom queen 20 years past her prime, and Labor Day illuminated a bondage fantasy with Nativity lighting. Here, Reitman enlisted as co-writer Erin Cressida Wilson, whose previous feature films (Secretary, Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus and Chloe) dealt with sexual kinks, to lend authority to a synoptic take on a society drenched in virtual venery.

Men, Women & Children attempts to achieve the tone of Reitman’s early films, pirouetting between behavioral levity and dark melodrama, yet it often falls flat. The director’s choice of Emma Thompson as the veddy English narrator of a very American story suggests that he sees Kurtgen’s novel as Jane Austen time-warped into the 21st century: a comedy of manners in an age of new norms. By citing and showing the Voyager’s interstellar mission, Thompson puts the compulsions of a few little Texans into macroscopic long shot — from outer space to cyberspace. But the movie proceeds as if the NASA craft had returned to a slightly different Earth, where people who share nothing but a zip code are bent, or crippled, in various ways by the same malady.

The dozen or so main actors do their best to breathe nuance into characters that are standing in for social statements. Sandler and DeWitt make a perfectly mismatched couple on a journey that long ago took a wrong turn. (They remember 9/11/01 fondly, since it was practically the last time they had ecstatic unplanned sex.) Elgort, the hunky cancer-teen from The Fault in Our Stars, and Dever, of Short Term 12, provide the respite of normal adolescence in this lineup of teen clichés. Garner tries heroically to make sense of a modern book-burner — daughter’s text-deleter — by painting her face with a wounded smile to hint at the sad past that may have steered Patricia toward her current malevolence. But actors shouldn’t have to do all the work, or to work against the script, in trying to bring their characters to plausible life.

Reitman’s long view, which he may mean to be the diagnosis of a sympathetic doctor, plays like a radio preacher’s rant against sins of the flesh. And for all the snazzy effects of kids walking through a mall or a school corridor madly texting — their messages clogging the film frame like dialogue balloons in a Mad magazine splash panel — this film is defiantly old-fashioned, possibly Luddite, in condemning the appetites nourished by modern technology.

The way we remember it, kids of an earlier era hid salacious stuff from their folks, if only under the mattress (the first place a parent would look). They tortured themselves with diet regimens and sought pleasure in video games, board games or Strip Hearts. Spouses found ways to stray. The world was awash in sexuality, always has been, yet somehow most of us survived.

Men, Women & Children doesn’t clarify complex issues so much as it simplifies and very nearly sullies them. You can sit through the movie dutifully noting its lessons, but at the end, you might want to clear your history.

TIME movies

Review: Sex and Death, French-style, in The Blue Room

The Blue Room
Alfama Films

A Georges Simenon novel comes to cool, illuminating life in Mathieu Amalric's fine Gallic thriller

Two things that people do all the time: have sex, and worry about it. Or, as Georges Simenon wrote: “Can there be a more intimate communication between two beings than copulation?” Yet American films have largely forgotten the power of sexual drama. Thank heaven for French movies like Mathieu Amalric’s The Blue Room, which compactly addresses the ecstasies and occasionally dangerous consequences of intimate contact.

Simenon had ample opportunity to consider the dramatic possibilities of adulterous liaisons. According to his own testimony, he had sex with more than 10,000 women. As productive as he was profligate, Simenon wrote at least 200 novels, about 80 of them featuring the gruff, wily Inspector Jules Maigret, and a similar number of short stories. His no-nonsense prose and his view of modern life as ugly, brutish and short had a deep influence on the French cinema in its realistic mode. The astringent minimalism of French directors over the past 60 years may have been perfected by Robert Bresson, but it was inspired by the netherworld in which Simenon characters dwell.

The Belgian writer often portrayed men and women drawn into affairs that end in pain or violence. Among his finest essays on the wages of sex is his 1964 novel The Blue Room. As director, co-adaptor and star, Amalric has made the book into a film that is splendidly taut, forcefully understated and, at just 76 minutes, blessedly concise. It earns admiration both for the mood it creates and for the melodramatic excesses it avoids.

Julien Gahyde (Amalric), an apparently content husband and father, has for the past few months indulged in an affair with Esther Despierre (Stéphanie Cléau), the sultry wife of one of Julien’s old classmates. A tigress in bed, the passionate and possessive Esther bites Julien’s mouth, as if signaling to attentive eyes — those of his wife Delphine (Léa Drucker), for example — that he belongs to her. If she were free, Esther asks him, would he leave Delphine? His answer is enigmatic.

Two sudden deaths later, Julien and Esther are arrested, though the prosecuting judge (Laurent Poitrenaux) shines his primary searchlight on the philandering husband. The titular “blue room” refers not only to the site of his illicit assignations but also to the color of the trial chamber at the end of the film. Both are places where sex leads to severe judgment.

Shooting in the old “Academy ratio” (before wide screen) and making exemplary use of composer Grégoire Hetzel’s similarly classic score, Amalric expertly draws the noose of circumstance around Julien. He creates recurring visual motifs, like the housefly that indicates the first sign of trouble; the fly shape also appears as a drop of blood, from Esther’s love bite, on Julien’s white shirt.

Amalric plays an adulterer with the hapless half-grin of someone condemned for the merest infraction; in France, a husband’s sexual transgression is often considered no more serious than a parking ticket. The revelation is Cléau in her first major film role. (She also cowrote the script with Amalric.) Her unconventional beauty can express the allure of a dream lover or the quiet scheming of a demon. In a performance that disdains operatic excess, Cléau never raises her voice. She can seduce or threaten with the merest smile. Like this excellent little film, she achieves maximum impact with minimal means.

TIME movies

Gone Girl Plays a Fatal Game of Love and Marriage

20th Century Fox

Ben Affleck and Rosamund Pike bring the battling young marrieds of Gillian Flynn's best-selling thriller to creepy screen life

Correction appended: Oct. 1, 2014

Looking for a review that doesn’t spoil the ending? Or do you want to read every piece of analysis about the unexpected twists of a movie like Gone Girl after you’ve seen it? We’re debuting a new feature on Time.com, developed by TIME’s tech lead Mark Parolisi, that lets you have it both ways. Click here to reveal the full analysis if you’ve already seen the film (the spoilers will be in bold), and click again if you change your mind (the spoilers will appear blurred).

Their courtship was a dream: the meeting of attractive opposites — two journalists for New York magazines — reviving the fond banter of film stars past. On their first date, Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck), a small-town Midwesterner at ease in the big city, took rich, elegant Manhattanite Amy Elliott (Rosamund Pike) on a pre-dawn stroll to a bakery and kissed her, as powdered sugar fluttered around them like the finest snowflakes. Later, at a press party for the Amazing Amy children’s books her parents had written about her, Nick pretended to interview her and, from his notebook, removed an engagement ring.

A man — a woman too, but for now, the man — puts a lot of effort into the courtship role. He plays, he may even briefly be, the charming, considerate fellow, attentive to his woman’s every need or whim, just like the hero of some classic romantic comedy that ends at the altar. But that’s just the Old Hollywood version; in real life, the wedding is the beginning of a different story. And if courtship is a movie, marriage is a job that can become a grinding routine, an Ever After without the Happily. In the morning-after cinders of the honeymoon glow, a man may ignore his bride and find a younger woman with whom he can play another exciting game: adultery.

Did you ever wonder, even for an instant, if you could kill your spouse? Or be killed by the one you wed? And, if not, could others imagine it of you? Those are some of the taunts running through Gone Girl, the Gillian Flynn novel and the taut, faithful movie that she, as screenwriter, and David Fincher have made from it. In a property with all the killer-thriller tricks — sudden disappearance and violent death, dark motives and cunning misdirection — the true creepiness of Gone Girl is in its portrait of a marriage gone sour, curdled from its emotional and erotic liberation of courtship into a life sentence together, till death do they part. In Gone Girl, marriage is a prison, and each spouse is both jailer and inmate — perhaps even executioner, too.

Soon after the wedding, Nick and Amy lost their jobs. When he learned from his twin sister Margo (Carrie Coon) that their mother was dying of cancer, Nick abruptly decided to move back to North Carthage, Mo., and take Amy with him. They sold their brownstone — Amy’s brownstone — at a loss. Nick and Margo bought a bar, with Amy’s money, and he taught a journalism class at the community college. (In the book the course is called “How to Launch a Career in Magazines” — a little joke from Flynn, who became a full-time novelist when she was cashiered after a decade at Entertainment Weekly.) When not tending bar with Margo, Nick has kindled an affair with sexy student Andie (Emily Ratajkowski), which leaves Amy alone at home, with no job, doing… hey, what is this brilliant, industrious woman doing? Nick has no idea.

One thing that consumed her interest was preparing a treasure hunt for their fifth wedding anniversary, as she has done each year before: offering clues in rhyme to the hiding places of various gifts. But around noon on the big day, Nick discovers that Amy is gone from their home. Signs of a struggle, and blood wiped from the kitchen floor, suggest she was abducted, possibly murdered. She and Nick were heard arguing the night before, and when word of his affair gets around, he becomes the prime suspect — if not to Rhonda Boney (Kim Dickens), the tough but sympathetic senior detective on the case, then to the neighbors and the avid, rabid media. Amy has left a diary, the record of a devoted wife’s growing suspicions and gnawing fear of her swine of a spouse, as well as the first clue in a brand-new treasure hunt. Nick now must juggle three uncomfortable roles: villain, victim and sleuth.

On the page, Gone Girl was a literary game: a tennis match of alternating chapters from Nick and Amy, with the reader offering to take each character’s side every few pages. Flynn simply — or, rather, complexly — interwove the narratives: Nick’s in the present, revealing more of his sins as he tracks the treasure-hunt clues, and Amy’s in the past, through her diary. He-said–she-said is fine for books, but movies play with the cinematic precept that seeing is believing: we show, you swallow. Given the dueling narratives, of which one, both or neither may be exactly true, it’s pretty impressive that Flynn and Fincher have managed to transfer this bookish jest successfully to the screen. The film amasses evidence against Nick through his own misdeeds, which we see, and through the testimony of Amy’s diary — a silk scarf that may become a noose — which we are shown. Like the novel, the movie detonates its big twist halfway through. So film reviewers must juggle the same ethical dilemma that faced book critics: whether or not to reveal the story’s shocking middle.

So here: Amy, exasperated with her lazy, careless husband and the glum life he had forced her into, faked her own murder and fashioned clues in the diary and the treasure hunt to frame him. She had carefully filched enough cash to live on while she moved in anonymity to the Ozarks. When she was robbed of her money, she contacted Desi Collings (Neil Patrick Harris), with whom she had a teenage affair and who remained desperately smitten, to set her up in his remote lakeside villa. Watching Nick’s declaration of love for her on tabloid TV, Amy decided he might after all be the man for her. Now she just had to figure out a way to explain her disappearance. That meant finding a new male villain.

“You’re not too smart, are you,” says sultry Kathleen Turner to full-of-himself William Hurt in the 1981 Body Heat. “I like that in a man.” In that Lawrence Kasdan thriller, the Turner character — who plays games and goes missing — has a temperature that runs “a couple of degrees high, around a hundred.” Amy is just the opposite: a cucumber-cool conniver, whose treasure hunt is, among other things, a test for Nick, to see if he’s as smart as he thinks he is. If so, he might be a worthy companion after all, suitable for siring a child — another Amazing Amy? Amy’s life was always partly fiction, from the time her parents wrote books about a fantasy image of their daughter: She became an expert at live-action role-playing, as a child, as Desi’s lover, then as Nick’s one-and-only. If she twists her own original plot, and returns to Nick, he’s bound to be as attentive as in their courtship. If not from gratitude, then from fear she can find a way to do him in.

Fincher tried a faithful version of a best-seller last time out, with his Americanization of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. That was a stillborn exercise compared with Gone Girl, which brings Nick and Amy to attractive, plausible life, and surrounds them with exemplary character actors. Kudos to Dickens, to David Clennon and Lisa Banes as Amy’s parents. (Also noteworthy are Scoot McNairy and Lola Kirke as friends you might not want to meet on the road. Only Harris disappoints; he lacks the hovering menace and ultimate bafflement of a stalker-lover.)

In Se7en and Fight Club, Fincher proved his suave mastery of film violence; in Zodiac, his way of clarifying the many clues in a murder thriller. As he showed in The Social Network, the director also knows that no wound is more toxic than a friend’s betrayal. There will be blood in Gone Girl, but some of the most startling moments are glancing — Amy’s quick kiss that includes a lip bite — and claustrophobic. What can be more ominous than the proximity of two people who are supposed to be in love but may have murder in mind?

Any readers, as they submerge themselves into a novel, automatically make the movie version in their heads. They cast it, too. For Gone Girl, they imagined Affleck as the only Nick, the way Gone With the Wind’s first readers preemptively saw Clark Gable as Rhett Butler. Good old Ben Affable, with his softness and weaselly charm, not to mention the cleft in his chin, seemed an ideal fit for the likable, not totally trustworthy Nick. The actor has played the bluff, fervent lover before, most notably in a terrific 1997 Kevin Smith rom-com called, yep, Chasing Amy; and in The Company Men he was the smug suburbanite who gets a comeuppance when he loses his job. It’s no surprise that Affleck slips into the role with the nervous aplomb of a man who starts to realize that the stroll he’s taking may lead to his own hanging.

For Amy, many readers envisioned Cate Blanchett or Charlize Theron; each could play a blond vixen capable of seducing and scaring a husband. But instead, the role went to the lesser-known Rosamund Pike. (Among her roles in Hollywood films: Andromeda in Wrath of the Titans and Tom Cruise’s helper in Jack Reacher.) Pike’s relative unfamiliarity to the mass audience allows her to draw Amy in careful cursive on a blank slate. We know of Pike’s Amy only what we see here: She is pretty, poised, always alert, ready to flash the witty remark that illuminates or scolds. She lives inside Amy’s brilliance, suggesting that the sunniest face can harbor the darkest intent.

In a movie of subtle tones and wild swerves, Pike expertly mixes a cocktail of hot and cold blood. She is the Amazing Amy you could fall for, till death do you part.

An earlier version of this post misspelled the name of the actor Scoot McNairy.

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