<http://schema.org/articleBody>
" A nightingale is a small, dark bird that is heard more than it is seen. It hides deep in bushes where it performs one of the more beautiful mating songs found in nature. Constantly calling out for love, it remains hidden in a world of its own intense privacy. This strange darkness of private longing is also the world of Nightingale, which, after a string of rejections at film festivals, is now being shown on HBO. The film is partly a commentary on technology-fueled narcissism, but it&amp;#039;s mainly a feat of performance for its star, Selma&amp;#039;s David Oyelowo, who is never offscreen for a moment.  The trick of the movie, and it is a trick, is its extreme simplicity. (Warning: spoilers ahead.) Nightingale is literally David Oyelowo in a series of rundown rooms and nothing else for an hour and a half. He plays Peter Snowden, a veteran (maybe? probably?) suffering from PTSD who has just murdered his mother. That action\u2014the only bit of real action in Nightingale\u2014happens before the film has begun. And even it could be some sort of projection from within the mind of the only character onscreen.       Snowden endures the fallout from the murder while expending most of his psychological energy trying to invite a friend over for dinner\u2014this last project a desperate bid for some kind of communication with another person. If that sounds underwhelming, it certainly can be at times. Sometimes Snowden talks on the phone to his family members. Sometimes he talks to what may or may not be an online audience. The world of Nightingale is so private, so entirely in Snowden&amp;#039;s own head, that what is real and what he&amp;#039;s imagined blend together. Is he really talking to somebody on the phone? Or is he only rehearsing conversations? Is anyone watching him as he streams video on his website? Or is he just recording himself? Did he even kill his mother? The claustrophobia smothers all clarity.  The plot of Nightingale is obviously metaphorical. Often it is ham-fistedly metaphorical, as in the case where Snowden receives a package in the mail which turns out to be a makeup mirror that his mother had ordered before her untimely death. Nightingale&amp;#039;s metaphor is a powerfully relevant one, however. The fact that the man&amp;#039;s name is Snowden and that the man whom he wants to have over for dinner is named Edward makes it all a bit obvious: We are talking about the loneliness that constant communication and surveillance counterintuitively create. None of the conflicts in Nightingale happen face-to-face. Screaming matches with a sister occur with a single voice. The financial struggles are with nameless operators no doubt sitting in corporate call centers. Nightingale is a study of the distortions that this world produces. When you never have to leave your house to do anything, your house becomes your whole self.   Jason Reitman&amp;#039;s Men, Women &amp;amp;amp; Children, from 2014, dealt with the same material through an ensemble drama rather than a lone performance, but with the same mixed results. The glum spirit of resignation and despair may be accurate to the situation these films describe, but it&amp;#039;s also not particularly pleasant to watch. The failure of Nightingale is identical with its success: It captures the anomie of screened-in life only too well. It seethes with the sense of boredom and self-obsession and confusion we all live with. But how much of that do you really want to surround yourself with? "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/entertainment/reviews/a35322/hbo-nightingale-review/>