Knight of Cups becomes the very thing it claims to satirise, a gilded chalice that reveals itself to be an entirely empty vessel.
There are moments of interest and flashes of visual power, but Knight of Cups is redundant.
Terrence Malick’s portrait of a lothario screenwriter seems to take an unhealthy interest in its own sleazy subject matter.
For a director who’s tackled big themes so often, Malick finds little worthy of his gifts in the field of male solipsism.
General release. Check local listings for show times.
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