Hamnet

i went into hamnet expecting prestige bait and got something so quiet and devastating that i sat through the credits unable to move. paul mescal looking like a 16th century puppy and somehow making it work. the scene where she's sewing — anyone who's lost someone will know exactly what i mean. zhao's direction is incredibly restrained which is the right call for the material because if you turned the volume up on any of this it would tip into melodrama. instead you get this slow accumulation of grief that doesn't release until the final 20 minutes. and when it releases. christ. i had to call my mom afterward. only complaint is the framing device with the play feels a touch academic and pulls you out of the emotional flow. but honestly i'm nitpicking. one of the best things i'll see this year and i'm calling it now even though it's only may. give it every award. or don't. it'll outlive the discourse either way.