A film so nice they made it twice, walking the razor’s edge of melodrama, double exposure of a women’s picture whose unspeakably glamorous star is called upon to manifest an ordinary life with the realism of interruptions, of arrhythmic arthouse cuts into the middle of shots and out of them again, as Julianne Moore demands of us with every artfully attuned muscle in her face to surrender our distance, to say admiringly as she has sex, dances, smokes cigarettes, brushes her teeth she’s just like us, from behind big glasses she pelts the hapless with red paint, rings our bell.