I can only speak of my particularly personal impressions of the picture, for I am no movie buff, I cannot authoritatively discourse upon the actors’ play, or talk about reminiscences evoked by camera operator’s work. In that regard it’s better to seek out more critical reviews on, say, iMDB, written by seemingly competent authors.

For me, besides simple enjoyment of the screening (be that a backdrop woven by droning dragonflies out of sunny and placid English summer, or an apocalyptic shot of Dunkirk (scene as beautiful as barely relevant to the plot)), what grappled the most were the austere facts of life — love conquers all more often only in fancy of romantically attuned authors and their readers, but in reality reign death and emptiness. Although, mayhaps, white lie (also known as an artistic license) by one of the heroines who, after destroying two lovers’ fate, gave them second, long, and happilly thereafter life in her book, is needed for some of us, like the happy pill?

All in all, the film is worth watching and even in the theatre. And I’ll go look for the book.