Kelly Reilly

The diminished return of the English striptease comedies...neither swanky nor funny enough to entertain, and Sherman's shallow script never earns its melodramatic turns.

Without McKay, Me and Orson Welles would be unthinkable as a film; with him, Linklater’s delightful celebration of the arts turns out to be one of the season’s most surprising gifts.

The resulting mystery-play-goes-mystery-movie allegory may have a heavy hand, but it also has its finger on the pulse of the struggles facing the [Catholic] Church and the emotional needs of its drifting parishioners.