The nightmare of the American Dream made flesh.
The worst, laziest movie you could make out of its already putrid source material. Amy Adams debases herself with a cruelly unsympathetic caricature of someone dealing with addiction, Gabriel Basso is a total charisma void, and the script is a mess. (Glenn Close does her best.) J.D. Vance and I share a basic biography, but in his telling of his story, he centers himself as an extraordinary young man who achieved in spite of his circumstances. He’s a fraud, and he’s turned out to be a pretty despicable person. Netflix and Ron Howard should be ashamed for unquestioningly helping him burnish his version of events.