Hamnet — 3/5
Shit, guys, I went a full fucking year of questioning this movie's title without anyone telling me that Hamnet's the name of the fucking kid. I guess I should have watched the trailer? And now I know, and a weight has been removed from my shoulders. Life blooms.
The last 45 minutes is a good movie. The power of narrative to process powerful emotions? Putting ourselves into our art as a way to let go? A good story as pathway to immortality? Bro, sign me up, let's fucking go. And then the first hour and 15 minutes is a love story between a manic playwright dream boy and a... (re-reads notes)... a witch? Okay, she's a witch. It's a weird fucking love story, bros. Willy Shakespeare doesn't come across as tortured so much as flighty, a flirt, a flake, until the end when he's, uh, placed his emotions into this play. Had this been 'a story of a man who can't express himself except in his art,' I'd be like "good on you." But no, this is a story about the wife who's left behind, who barely knows what's inside her husband other than that he accepts her, who was strong until love's attachment weakened her, and then he gets forgiven because he's placed all the things he could not give her into a powerful work. The movie feels like a forgiveness of a wayward partner because they are an artist, which I can buy, except the portrayal of him for much of the runtime is kind of just "shitty guy."
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