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With instructions from her genius son's carefully crafted notebook, a single mother sets out to rescue a young girl from the hands of her abusive stepfather.
The Book of Henry had promising elements within its opening act that were quickly dismantled once that event occurred. The film then free falls into a genre-bending mess where it does not know what film it wants to become.
Even in this mess of conflicting ideas, you still get a sense of the childlike wonder that drives Treverrow to tell stories. It's a rare gift, and something to help him survive calamitous setbacks like this one.
A nervy, willfully preposterous study of motherhood and loss, "The Book of Henry" recklessly shifts between tones and genres, never predictably but rarely satisfyingly.
With a plot far too dark for kids, and an approach that's often too mild to satisfy adults, the result is a film as uneven as the Rocky Mountain foothills.