 is against the ropes, with a debilitating heart condition, two young girls to raise and a terrifying lack of medical insurance: just finding out she needs a transplant sets her back $980. She takes all the moral support she can get, which comes from Charlie's gentle concern, his willingness to mind her corner. Meanwhile, patients with treatable conditions begin mysteriously dying – not on Charlie's watch, but on Amy's. Think of Cullen as a kind of American Harold Shipman. Screenwriter Krysty Wilson-Cairns (1917) based this lightly fictionalised drama-thriller on Charles Graeber's factual account of the same title, which charted the methodical cunning of Cullen's crimes, including his use of saline drips that he pre-injected with insulin and other fatal drugs before colleagues hooked them up. But this shady stuff happens off-screen, which leaves the dots to be joined by a police investigation before Amy puzzles crucial things out for herself; a pair of officers played by Noah Emmerich and Nnamdi Asomugha – both excellent value – butt heads with the hospital's obstructive risk manager (Kim Dickens). Deploying an ultra-sober palette and hypnotic Clint Mansell score, director Tobias Lindholm makes the institutional callousness chill, if anything, even more than the motiveless serial killings. The pattern of Cullen arousing wariness at one workplace, then being shunted like a hot potato elsewhere, exposes the core of American healthcare as a conspiratorial profit enterprise. In its use of Redmayne, the film's onto something, too. We see Charlie thro){kind=link}
In this dramatisation of the real-life case of Charles Cullen, Redmayne and Jessica Chastain weave a magnificently tense spell
For about half of The Good Nurse, Jessica Chastain and Eddie Redmayne team up with bleary intimacy in a late-night hospital ward, new workmates sharing snatched moments of respite. They play a pair of nurses on night shift at an intensive care unit in New Jersey, to which Redmayne’s real-life character Charles Cullen has just been transferred. It’s his ninth such placement.
Amy (Chastain, in one of her grittiest performances) is against the ropes, with a debilitating heart condition, two young girls to raise and a terrifying lack of medical insurance: just finding out she needs a transplant sets her back $980. She takes all the moral support she can get, which comes from Charlie’s gentle concern, his willingness to mind her corner. Meanwhile, patients with treatable conditions begin mysteriously dying – not on Charlie’s watch, but on Amy’s.
Think of Cullen as a kind of American Harold Shipman. Screenwriter Krysty Wilson-Cairns (1917) based this lightly fictionalised drama-thriller on Charles Graeber’s factual account of the same title, which charted the methodical cunning of Cullen’s crimes, including his use of saline drips that he pre-injected with insulin and other fatal drugs before colleagues hooked them up.
But this shady stuff happens off-screen, which leaves the dots to be joined by a police investigation before Amy puzzles crucial things out for herself; a pair of officers played by Noah Emmerich and Nnamdi Asomugha – both excellent value – butt heads with the hospital’s obstructive risk manager (Kim Dickens). Deploying an ultra-sober palette and hypnotic Clint Mansell score, director Tobias Lindholm makes the institutional callousness chill, if anything, even more than the motiveless serial killings. The pattern of Cullen arousing wariness at one workplace, then being shunted like a hot potato elsewhere, exposes the core of American healthcare as a conspiratorial profit enterprise.