This was good as hell and if (when? when) Natalie Portman loses to Emma fucking Stone tomorrow night I will be as angry as a grown-ass man should be at the goddamn Academy Awards.
Again, sometimes I think my Letterboxd reviews turn out alright:
Not just the performance of Natalie Portman's lifetime, but a performance of the performance of Jackie Kennedy's lifetime as well, all dignity and composure in the face of newfound widowhood and media scrutiny. Portman's First Lady is calm and quiet through grief and anger, rarely breaking above a breathy, ornate whisper, at all times self-conscious of her image and her husband's legacy and how they'll come to be defined in the days following his untimely end. But the whole dang thing is this magnificent gem, shot and scored in this ethereal, haunting way, bouncing back and forth temporally, teetering between the private and the public, and finding a perfect balance overall of strength and fragility.
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