Ewan McGregor direct himself, Jennifer Connelly and Dakota Fanning in this adaptation of Philip Roth’s masterpiece about a family’s American dream being torn apart by Sixties radicalism. 

Opening to toxic reviews and little public interest, I think McGregor’s directorial debut is actually the work of a fine new craftsman filled with neat performances and masterful touches. Sure at times the dialogue can feel didactic and stilted but no more than say Mamet or Sorkin often can, the actors throw themselves into the vast narrative and theatrical exchanges with confidence and aplomb. The recreation of the era has a melancholy sheen that echoes Fincher at his best, the grimy tragedy uncovered recalls McGregor’s earlier acting working in the sexually aggressive worlds of Shallow Grave and Young Adam. Certain scenes are charged with an affecting explicitness that seem at odds with the prestige costumes and set dressing, but this demonstrates that McGregor the director understand Roth’s meta novel is a lusty, confused, repressed and desolate work. He plays these challenging chords together with an impressive smoothness. A depressing ride, for sure… but one engrossing enough and finely made enough that I feel confident in recommending it.

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