An accountant's life is told backwards from the moment of his death in three acts. No cause for alarm, it's not a remake of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, but an adaptation of a Stephen King short story, albeit that even that mere precis forebodes the kind of anodynely vague messages about the meaning of life that Hollywood is so fond of (cf. the ridiculous success of Everything Everywhere All at Once). And so it proves. The three acts are linked together by the presence of the titular character at different ages and the same repeated aphorisms coming from the mouths of various personae. Its beginning, the moment of Chuck's death, is also apparently the end of the universe, as he is later/earlier made out to be the only thing that truly exists. So, the film sells masturbatory solipsism in the guise of philosophical profundity. Which is a pity, because it does also contain a lot of wonderful scenes, particularly the one with Tom Hiddleston as Chuck dancing his socks off, and some rather wasted supporting talents, such as Chiwetel Ejiofor. But the overall experience is frustrating, like panning for gold and only finding flecks after so much toil.
5/10
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