By Carl Wyant.
Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk.
Show-me-don’t-tell-me, the screenwriting rule, or if you prefer the guideline, is broken more times than one can count cards in Molly’s Game.
This and heaps of anecdotal evidence prove conclusively that Aaron Sorkin is madly in love with the sound of his own dialogue.
Overwriting über alles.
This story, this screenplay, this film is so clever that it took me nearly two hours of its 140 minutes to figure out that Jessica Chastain’s compelling performance as the world’s most intelligent, most strategic, most redheadedly gorgeous woman was actually standing in for Sorkin’s own imagination about himself.
By the time the action, the character jeopardy finally came around, I was so accustomed to the story being told to me by a first person VO, that I was confused . . . until the VO started up again to tell me what I was already seeing.
Best radio play of the year, as it turns out, with some very nice moving images, and several very charismatic actors to watch.
So it’s got that going for it, which as we know from Bill Murray’s Carl in ‘Caddy Shack’, is nice. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?