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One of many problems I had with Die My Love, the Jennifer Lawrence-Robert Pattinson movie, was how scenes could be independently captivating, yet none of it ever seemed to hang together. I’m supposed to believe that jawline, those right angles on Robert Pattinson’s face, the very one you see above, grew up driving an F-150? I’m supposed to believe that’s the face of a man who knows what a John Deere Gator is?
But in Primetime, Robert Pattinson is the best he’s ever been. His character and performance subsume his inherent Britishness and handsomeness and even the Odyssey line that plays on a loop in my head (and that’s before he unwraps a Strawberry Fruit Roll-Up). As To Catch A Predator host Chris Hansen (currently on an “I’m not owned!!” press tour of his own), Pattinson glares and grins and writhes under the agony of his own ego. Are these other men’s demons he’s on a mission to exorcise, or his own? The movie leaves the character in the lurch; it’s dazzling to watch the vigilante try to outrun himself.
Primetime strikes me as a portal into the ego and vanity of television, a Network for the new millennium, a macho To Die For. ...
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