A very old-fashioned biopic (sort of) about a French writer and his fight to save an army officer wrongly accused of treason. I found myself drawn in despite myself.
The most Hollywood version of Emily Brontë’s weird, gothic masterpiece, which is still pretty weird and gothic if that’s what you’re into.
Maybe the first big blockbuster, somehow still leaving viewers flabbergasted a century later. Also one long missive about “cancel culture,,” basically.
I spent most of this classic Best Picture winner checking to see how much time it had left. You may like it more if you are more into shirtless Clark Gable than I am.