That Witherspoon looks like a toga party keg-stand champion befits DuVernay’s modern vision of a paperback classic bedazzled to within an inch of its life. (Maybe even closer to death than that – I wouldn’t want to be within a mile of Oprah Winfrey when she realizes her sequined eyebrows just look super silly.) The costumes are at once cluttered and vacuous. The design decree is: “More!” Mrs Whatsit, Winfrey’s Mrs Which and Mindy Kaling’s Mrs Who are plated in extravagant ruffles and braids, but their outfits are such a heedless hot-glue assault, they don’t say a thing about who these characters individually are. They are glitter dolls flung into a technicolor void.
Forget the tykes. Winfrey alights in Meg and Charles Wallace’s backyard as though astrologically assured that she’s the star of the film. Twice the size of everyone else and with her hair curled into an interplanetary fleur de lis, she looms and bobs and radiates love upon all the lesser beings onscreen and in seats. In one scene, a flying Charles Wallace stretches out a small hand to stroke Winfrey’s cheek. It feels like the most sincere shot in the movie.
Source: theguardian
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