towering turns from Sigourney Weaver and Margaret Qualley are the driving force in this affectionate true-life tale; it's a movie, essentially familiar in structure and tone, that owes everything to a pair of knockout performances. It's a casting triumph
it's a witty device, but one at odds with the reality of Rakoff's real experience, and suggests the movie views Joanna's story less as their own discrete circumstances than another chapter in the unsolvable secret of his career
a pleasant and diverting film, then, that may leave you craving more of the egotism and rancour that seems to seep from every pore of New York's literary scene
a bafflingly insipid, zestless, derivative film -- a simperingly coy knock-off of "The Devil Wears Prada" without the sexiness and fun, and so wet that in the immortal words of Molesworth, you could shoot snipe off it
"My Salinger Year" is an enjoyable hundred minutes, with gorgeous visuals and a wonderful relationship built between its two markedly different female leads, but there is little staying power after the credits roll