I detested this film.
Twisted and repugnant personal behavior. Do people really stay in relationships with such self-serving narcissists?
Apparently they do.
I love Bradley Cooper and know he is truly committed to his craft, but his prosthetics—great as they were—distracted me ceaselessly. They felt wholly unnecessary. Worse than that, they actually subtracted from rather than added to any semblance of authenticity. (This, by the way, is precisely how I feel about Chris Hemsworth's unnecessarily ginormous schnoz in the otherwise electric Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga by the inimitable George Miller and starring knock-kneed Anya Taylor-Joy, arriving stateside May 24th of this year.)
Anyhoo, Carey Mulligan (as actress Felicia Montealegre Cohn Bernstein) is the only shining light in the maestro's darkness, but even she cannot carry this trash into the endzone.
I understand the film was to interest me in Leonard Bernstein, but it affirmed my dislike not only of his musical taste, but also of his selfishness.
