matt lynch’s review published on Letterboxd:
Plenty amusing and, thankfully, sort of pretentious. Nichols never really manages to make this remotely credible, even if it's perfectly understandable that he'd be disinterested in taking the material too seriously. All the poisoned masculinity is painted with an awfully ostentatiously "witty" brush, though, and placing it in the context of a rich man's mid-life crisis in the cutthroat world of book publishing doesn't help. It's not that Jack Nicholson howling at the moon in Central Park isn't funny, just that it's the kind of joke Dick Cavett probably tells a story about telling at a party in 1979.