Chloé Zhao’s MY GIRL.

It’s a handsome movie and everyone is working very hard (Emily Watson, good to see you), but this felt counterfeit to me and left me completely cold — no sense of what draws Agnes to Shakespeare (name withheld until the end like the “Robin” reveal in THE DARK KNIGHT RISES), portentous children who exist largely to become ill, and little sense of what art or narrative means to these people until suddenly it’s about art transforming…