Molly's Game (2017) Review

"Are you taking a rake?"

"No."

"Then you're not breaking the law."

Sorkin understands that the audience fucking loves the jargon, baby, and he delivers here. Jessica Chastain, channeling Erin Brokovich, smoothly rattles these Sorkinisms off like a Chicago typewriter, her cleavage in a technicolor dress factory of wardrobe that's practically working the clapperboard in and out of scene. Chastain was at the height of her powers here, and absolutely carries the film on her front.

Any scene that's awash in the depths of the underground poker world is behind-the-curtain party-pleasing. The rest of the movie, well....

Jeremy Strong is fun doing his best Jeremy Piven impression. But the other big names on the cast sheet are all landmines, waiting to be stepped on when the film hands them their big scene. Michael Cera is jarringly bad. Kevin Costner's Papa Bloom steps on every scene he's in. Idris Elba is not on top of his game. The opening scene is a surprisingly effective little sports micro drama, though once it moves more explicitly from biography to psychology later in the film, its luster is rubbed clean away.

The last 30 minutes actively tries to kick down the whole rollicking edifice for some cheap moralizing, reminding you who's at the helm here, as if you could have forgotten. It's probably not a mistake that this movie hides a really effective 110 minute movie in its 140 minute run time.