Screen icon Sigourney Weaver delights as the boss of a wide-eyed wannabe poet in My Salinger Year, an adaptation of Joanna Rakoff's bestselling coming-of-age memoir, which orbits around the reclusive author.
In 1951 J.D. Salinger released Catcher in the Rye, an instant classic of teenage angst and alienation that inspired adoration in its admirers. Fifteen years later, he'd fled New York for New Hampshire, become increasingly sequestered inside his home — at one point constructing a literal wall around the property — and stopped publishing altogether.
The arrival of her boyfriend Don — an amusing caricature of a nice-guy douchebag who works at a socialist bookshop and writes his novel naked at his desk in their ratty Brooklyn apartment — happily suggests the film doesn't take itself as seriously as it first appears. But it's hard to believe that this young writer, who seems stuck in a cushioned adolescence, has any real hunger, or an original voice fighting to get out.
From her grand entrance on Joanna's first day on the job — wrapped in a chic white coat that matches the streak in her hair, blanking her new assistant as she saunters past waving a cigarette — she delivers a finely textured performance that combines comic timing with great pathos and power.
Well past her best now.
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