Vapid empty spectacle from a director who relies on flash to hide his deficit of talent. Poor lead performances and full of unconvincing Australian actors playing Yanks to save money (like too many films these days). Even the 1949 Alan Ladd version is better, and that one is pretty limp. The august critic A.O. Scott said "the best way to enjoy the film is to put aside whatever literary agenda you are tempted to bring with you." Because lowering your expectations is the American way, apparently. But what to expect from a pontificating blowhard like Scott? Intelligent criticism? This movie currently has a 7.2 on IMDb, which is ludircrous and speaks more to either ratings rigging or the general stupidity of the troglodytes who review there. Probably both.