But Julian Fellowes's very British symphony of «sorry «s is extraordinarily familiar — an Adrian Lyne film
without slickness or sex about what happens when a desperate housewife dabbles in the dangerous and the commensurate desperation with which her stiff - upper - lip husband scrambles to keep his dignity and status intact.
Not exact matches
Director Michôd avoids Tarantino / Guy Ritchie
slickness here, and instead goes for a kind of gritty 1970s - era directness,
without specifically wallowing in it, or showing off with it.
No pressure - fair, honest & helpful
without any of the cliche salesperson «
slickness».