This being a Tom Ford movie, even the white trash has gorgeous bone structure, but these guys are genuinely menacing. In the movie’s white-knuckle centerpiece sequence, the family is nudged off a lonely stretch of West Texas freeway by rednecks in another vehicle, led by Ray (a chilling Aaron Taylor-Johnson). Its harrowing plot comes to vivid life in her head, with Tony (Gyllenhaal again), his wife Laura ( Isla Fisher) and their obnoxiously entitled teenage daughter India (Ellie Bamber) heading off on vacation. Susan’s sense of isolation is compounded when she receives a manuscript from ex-husband Edward, almost 20 years after they last spoke. (This couple’s too-brief appearance is a hoot can someone please write them their own movie?) “Believe me, our world is a lot less painful than the real world,” says Carlos (Michael Sheen), the gay husband of an eccentric socialite (Andrea Riseborough) who pairs chunky statement jewelry with Liz Taylor’s old hair and caftan. But she’s plagued by gnawing unhappiness and unable to make the similarly well-heeled and privileged friends in whom she confides understand. Adams’ innate vulnerability is nicely played off here against Susan’s sleek appearance, as smooth and painstakingly put-together as the pristine surfaces of the world in which she moves.
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