Olly’s review published on Letterboxd:
For complete transparency, I reached as early as the 17 minute mark when I realised what a profoundly terrible mistake I'd made, pressing play to watch this (since I always feel a crushing sense of obligation to finish a story & see it through to the end once I've started - regardless of the quality - much to my detriment, in this case) but on the other hand, I guess painfully inadequate movies (as torturous as they are to endure) always make you appreciate the greater ones, don't they? Every cloud.
Anyway, in this relatively recent scripted film - which doesn't at all feel as though it's being very clearly adapted by a director from a written screenplay, written (with immense subtlety) for the screen by a writer, apparently based off of a novel which is also (unsurprisingly) written (by an author) - from Amazon Prime, 'My Policeman' follows the extraordinarily naturalistic tale of some characters played by ACTORS (the artificiality of their fictional existence would be a shock to many - a SHOCK, I tell you; one could scarce believe the people depicted are secretly a mere construction) who are ACTING & giving PERFORMANCES in scenes which are WRITTEN for the ACTORS to ACT in for 2 entire hours, especially featuring relative newcomer Harry Styles (audaciously transitioning from music with either no sense of self-awareness or tremendous bravery & a fetish for public humiliation) who's seemingly re-living his favourite childhood memories in GCSE drama classes, delivering the lines - which I forgot to mention (on the off chance you require another reminder) are written... In a manner I'd love to say is "convincing".
Very much so.
Furthermore, what palpable chemistry he has with his apparent partner. The unconquerable love they allegedly harbour for one another was tremendously believable.
Hence, for the entire duration of the dragged out run-time, we have to sit through what can only be described as the adult equivalent of a school nativity play; unable to look away, yet equally unwilling to see any further - like physically pained parents projecting an outward image of pride in front of their offspring, amidst agonising silence (witnessing a brazen absence of talent in their kid - naively oblivious to their lack of skill on stage), forcefully showing support through gritted teeth (nails digging in to the bloodied kneecaps), in a desperate attempt to hide the cringes & intensity of their overwhelming embarrassment. That's how it honestly feels, being a spectator to the famous singer, boldly endeavouring to launch a career in Hollywood (I'm not trying to instill deep shame or be overly harsh but hubris isn't exactly a good thing & has led to the downfall of many men - something worth consideration before proceeding to another project); the only thought crossing my mind is in relation to how best perhaps communicating the chances (if they could even be labelled as such) of his success.
Ultimately, the decision is his & I wish him the best of luck... Because he'll need it.
What else can I add? Oh, the beach looked a bit windy too (I'm clutching at straws, attempting to find something I liked about it - give me a bit more time to think) & I'm certain their journeys to the sea would've been far superior, had they ventured to sandy shores, as opposed to pebbled ones.
Erm... Well, in addition, Emma Corrin must've thankfully felt right at home, so soon after playing 'Diana' on 'The Crown', considering the narrative essentially typecasts her in the exact same role, except with Harry playing 'Charles' here & David Dawson embodying 'Camilla'? Yay.
Can we just cut our losses & accept the review has concluded? It was dire. I can't maintain the façade any longer.