The soothing rhythm didn't stop the temptation of the rounded London accent. I was surprised that I didn't fast-forward and watched it carefully without distraction.
Is the story good or is it true to Bill Nighy in an instant? I don't know anymore.
It's just that misty London, with smokey lips, sketching all kinds of narrations about charm, late heroism, ambiguity, confidentiality, and favors. It was a thin and tall old English man walking hurriedly in the streets, smoking a cigarette in contemplation and grace. Political humor, linguistic sophistry, and seemingly calm narratives, are actually surging. Although it has been panicked recently, it is still the most memorable film I have seen recently.
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