Now and then, during the Texan trauma, we cut back to Susan, who keeps gasping or dropping the manuscript when she gets to a scary bit. Over the next year, thanks to a local policeman in a white Stetson, the villains are traced, and justice, of the most basic variety, is served. This unfolds in a very different landscape-the badlands of West Texas, where a middle-class family is forced off the road, at night, by leering hooligans, who abduct the wife and the daughter, and leave the husband stranded and tormented in the scrub. Donning a pair of spectacles slightly larger than welder’s goggles, she settles down to read, and at once we are spirited into the tale that Edward tells. (She gets a paper cut from opening it, poor soul, and her assistant has to finish the job.) Inside is the manuscript of a novel by her first husband, Edward (Jake Gyllenhaal), whom she last saw nineteen years ago, when he was still a struggling writer. Anyone whose idea of a screen marriage is the one between William Powell and Myrna Loy, in “The Thin Man,” should stay clear. The gates to their home are forged from polished steel, and a Jeff Koons balloon sculpture sits forlornly in the back yard. She lives in Los Angeles with her second husband (Armie Hammer), whom she occasionally meets at breakfast. Her makeup could have been done by a mortician. At its core is Susan (Amy Adams), a gallery owner with an austere haircut and a savage dose of insomnia. What is the new Tom Ford movie, “Nocturnal Animals,” meant to be about? I have seen it twice now, and am none the wiser second time around.
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