Film Review: THE GOLDFINCH

Ansel Elgort and Aneurin Barnard, two amazing actors I never heard of before.

Panned by all the professional movie critics trying to make a name for themselves, The Goldfinch is a perfect example of why we go to the movies: It's a total escape from your own life. For 130 minutes you'll think about nothing but what's on the screen. And what's on the screen is often thrilling, filled with awesome -- I usually avoid that word but it's true in this instance -- acting and searing images that will surely stay in your head for a long time. Amazingly, Brad Pitt isn't even in it.

Based on the 2014 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel of the same name, The Goldfinch is easier to take as a film. I found the book to be too gruesome to finish, filled as it is with long descriptions of unpleasant and even gruesome behavior by a cast of debased characters steeped in drugs and violence. (The worst of these scenes were omitted from the film, although there is still quite a bit of that.) Instead, this long and convoluted tale of a young boy whose life is by turns awful and terrible, with only fleeting moments of happiness, reminded me of a pithy novel by Charles Dickens, sort of an updated "Oliver Twist."

The actors do a fantastic job of becoming other people. Luke Wilson, an actor who usually plays a cheery and lovable guy, here portrays a lowlife bastard so well I may never be able to respect him again. Even the ice-cold mannequin Nicole Kidman surpasses herself, displaying actual human qualities. But the most memorable performances are those of youngsters I have never seen or heard of before but likely will after this movie.

I give The Goldfinch two thumbs up, and I wish I had more thumbs.