Like it, don't love it.
Constantly veers towards the boundary between emotional pathos or emotional catastrophism. The striking visual approach is, ironically, the distancing effect that reminds us just how weird the whole shebang is: our empathy for Jackie—Portman is perfect for this—is tempered by how ethereal she and her world are. Her desperation to preserve something of her and Jack's Camelot for the history books is rendered as purposefully extravagant, maniacal even.
And the final revelation of that as…
