John Crowley
Conclave and We Live in Time are prime examples of solid filmmaking, that will likely be successful regardless of what accolades they end up garnering.
The Goldfinch is not a secret masterpiece, but it is good, beautiful even, and is worthy of revisiting and re-evaluation.
John Crowley’s adaptation of The Goldfinch lets down its source material and is, above it all, limp Oscar-bait.
In The Goldfinch, a boy in New York is taken in by a wealthy Upper East Side family after his mother is killed in a bombing at the MoMA.
There is a moment about halfway through Brooklyn when Saoirse Ronan’s character is shown as a distant speck in a giant field of green grass, as if lost amongst the lush vegetation. The moment comes soon after she has decided to go visit her mother in Ireland after a loss in the family; though not immediately apparent, it foreshadows her soon-to-come inner conflict, which will make her question where she truly belongs. Such a gorgeous and symbolic shot is representative of much of Brooklyn, which is far deeper than its relatively straightforward subject matter would imply.