There has been such a lot of fuss and hype around this adaptation of the Ian McEwan novel — as if this is all anybody has ever been waiting for — that I did wonder if I had anything new or useful to say. But then I realised: 1) it’s never stopped me before and 2) it’s never stopped me before and 3) it’s never stopped me before. So, in short, if it’s never stopped me before, why stop now? Shall we proceed, now we’ve decided we are not stopping? Good.
What I am saying, I think, is that you will probably have a sense of Atonement already, considering it’s already been hailed as ‘an English Patient for the noughties’ and a ‘masterpiece’ and has been tipped for more awards than possibly even exist. And? It is an elegant and sophisticated film, one that never condescends or shirks from the complexity of the novel and its grand themes — war, love, sex, memory, betrayal, redemption — but it’s also strangely unfeeling.
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