I have never been a Jack Nicholson fan. I think he has, ever since he became a star, relied on a series of stock gestures: smirks, sneers, eyeball rolling. Here he does something that could really be called acting, i.e., for once in his life he doesn't play himself, but really immerses himself in his character. Meryl Streep does the same, but then she usually does. Too bad the movie is overlong, meandering, and relentlessly downbeat. But it's worth seeing anyway.
Review of Ironweed
