Christine

Pressurized self-motivation, dedicated drive, ambient adrenaline, Queen of the hive, a game changing carnal recalibration generating sensational scoops frustrates ethically inclined televisual journalist Christine Chubbuck (Rebecca Hall) as she eagerly seeks a new position in Baltimore, but Sarasota, Florida, lacks the raucous remonstrances more rigidly regaled in urban playgrounds, so she must exotically elucidate paltry empirical sums.

Without losing her soul.

But even when attempting to asininely unravel, she still showcases alternative angles, which intelligently promote distinguished depth, yet can't spin and stoke the sought after sleaze.

Interrogatively.

Tragic.

Forlorn and suppressing.

In any decade.

A principled well-rounded bipolar session, Antonio Campos's Christine juxtaposes the innocent with the expedient to maximize discontent.

Patiently waiting for years for the chance to broadcast intellectually, a perfect candidate for 60 Minutes or W5, perhaps, The Nature of Things, Christine can't slow down and has trouble playing ball if she's not constantly making game winning plays while also refereeing stark nubile antics.

More of an author than a reporter, she can't dish out the basest instincts, play on the team, and wants the chance to nationally unwind, but can't sludge her way through the grotesque steamy privilege.

Give a little, get a little, but even when she gives it's not what they've got, not what they want, sincere stupidity, she cannot fake it.

The film's full of strong characters who are each given plenty of screentime to express their opposing viewpoints.

It's not as focused on Christine as the title suggests, her manager Michael (Tracy Letts) clearly sharing his contradictory ideas, occasionally using locker room terms that specialists may find offensive.

You get used to it.

I even listen when people say, "that's sick," these days.

Christine obviously can't work within small boxes and would have excelled if she'd established herself in broadly disseminated artistic journals or art house films.

At the same time, she had an audience, an adoring audience, which unfortunately wasn't enough.

The film's set in the '70s, production design by Scott Kuzio, long before YouTube and the net, and even if the ending should be taken out of context, according to thoughts I've heard shared by prominent journalists recently, it's still a shame she couldn't handle losing, couldn't double down and diversify.

Bluntly speaking.

It drags a bit.