This is essentially Spielberg's _Almost Famous_. It's way too sentimental and white, which is a complaint that's often thrown at Spielberg's work (one I don't always agree with myself), but this is undeniably him at his most schmaltzy. Every genuine emotion is buried under such a deep layer of cheese that the entire picture ends up feeling phony and disingenuous to me. Michelle Williams is probably the biggest victim of this direction, her performance and the dialogue she's given are awful. The other performances are passable at best, with Gabriel LaBelle and Paul Dano being the clear standouts. Visually I did not find the movie to be that compelling, it's overly reliant on a generic orange/teal color grade, but there are some strong moments that illustrate the power of visual filmmaking very well. John Williams' score is probably one of his most forgettable ones, it sounded like a composer who's trying to do an imitation of Alexandre Desplat. I just don't really see the overall appeal. Emotionally it clearly doesn't work for me, but I also find it to be lacking in substance. We don't learn that much about Spielberg as a filmmaker or artistic force, it's mostly focussed on him as a person, which doesn't interest me as much. He probably poured his soul into this project, but to me it's a perfect example that artists should not be in charge of their own memoirs.

4/10