This Fincher film feels very un-Finchery (not a bad thing), ignoring his usual sinister tones and ominous circumstances which his protagonists much overcome. Gary Oldman is great (if not a little too aged) as the titular writer, and Amanda Seyfried is a surprise as blonde Brooklynite Marion Davies, girlfriend to William Randolph Hearst. You already know if you're the kind of person who will want to watch this, but here's my critical declaration about the film: I took one full star away because of the sheer amount of British actors playing 1930s Jewish writers and studio figures, so unconvincing were their accents and appearances. I don't understand why the notoriously detail-oriented perfectionist Fincher invites actors who can't pronounce the letter "R" onto his sets, to distract from anything they might have to say. Less critical is the scene at the end where Mank goes on a drunken tirade in front of Hearst, equating the tycoon to Don Quixote. Not that there's a lot of naturalism in the movie before that, but it came across as script pages written by someone grinding an axe.