Sometimes I’m swallowed by my mind and can do no right. Bad habit trap. I wanna be a good boy Mark Ruffalo. Pouring all my time and energy into exposing the Catholic church, neglecting my marriage. So Keaton can gaze down the long bridge of his nose to me. The miles of distance between the Boston basement. He’ll whisper, “Good job” and I’ll be whole. He’ll caress me and sing to me in his Mother’s arm and carry me to sleep on the backs of a thousand rough-spun balloons. This is one of those perfect Hollywood movies, totally entertaining while on and once over immediately forgettable. We’re larger than movies. We’re life.