The Book of Henry has been hailed by some as the next so-bad-it’s-good classic and by others as just one of the worst movies ever. But as I finished watching it, my reaction was, “What’s the big deal?” As I thought it over, though, I realized that some pretty crazy things did happen – Naomi Watts plays video games and buys a gun, Sarah Silverman kisses an 11-year-old on the mouth, Bobby Moynihan doesn’t debut a new catchphrase – but that lunacy does not really take this film to the realm of The Inexplicable. That is because when it comes to the strangest examples of cinema that truly need to be treasured, it is about tone more than plot – the how, not the what. And Book of Henry’s tone just isn’t that singular. It’s maudlin, bland, middle-of-the-road. All the actors are too traditionally competent and/or understated for the weirdness to really land.

Jacob Tremblay is still adorable, though.

I give The Book of Henry 400 “They Did That’s” out of 1000 “Whatever’s.”

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