Supernova

The film accordingly owes a great deal of its power to its actors, who are, of course, more than merely plausible as longtime partners, whose way through the small dramas of the everyday is the movie's real substance.

By the time Tusker and Sam reach the end of the road - both metaphorical and literal, as this is as much a travelogue of England's Lake District - Supernova feels less like a film to cherish and more a tweet to favourite.

Its particular effectiveness depends not only on Firth and Tucci's believability as a couple but also on the complementarity of their respective personas...

Never does "Supernova" try to bite off more than it can handle as it winds toward an inevitable but beautifully rendered destination.

In scene after scene, as the two men visit friends and family one last time, we glimpse the showier, more maudlin film that Supernova could but never does devolve into, hovering just at the edges.

If the two performances are individually excellent, it is the relationship between them that is the real star of Supernova, a portrait of the dazzling starburst of intense feeling that floods a deeply loving couple's universe right before heat death.

Listless and drab, and perversely free of emotions for a movie that is about literally nothing else other than the looming terror of death.

Elegant and elegiac, haunting and, at times, harrowing, little-known British writer-director Harry Macqueen's understated drama is a heartwrenching study of love and loss.

Here as ever, Tucci is the most charming of performers. But something about the use of celestial metaphors and, more generally, the treatment of dementia seems heavy-handed.

Supernova is small pools of warmth along a long, dark street, walked in the company of wonderful guys I wish I knew and could spend an evening with some time...