Good Time begins with a jolt and never slows down. The film grabs you from the first scene and refuses to slow down, every shot and cut pushing the viewer deeper into Connie’s spiraling night. The style builds that tension. The handheld camera, the close-ups, the neon lights, and the nonstop movement trap the viewer inside Connie’s perspective. I felt myself reacting before I could think, which says a lot about how aggressively the movie pushes its pacing.
The style turns simple actions into moments of panic. Connie runs, begs, schemes, lies, and the camera follows him with almost no distance. The editing cuts before you can process what just happened. The sound also plays into this because the score pulses under everything and keeps the scenes tight. I noticed that the film uses almost no quiet moments, and when they appear, they only highlight how unstable Connie’s world is.
What makes the style work is how it reflects the character.
Connie never stops moving because he has no real plan. I started to see the pacing as his mindset. The urgency is not just a thriller technique. It becomes the story of someone who builds disaster while trying to escape it. Pattinson’s performance fits perfectly with this because he plays Connie with total conviction, even when the choices make no sense. The movie kept me anxious the entire time, and I think that tension is the point.
Watching this movie reminded me of the story about Matt Reeves seeing this performance and instantly knowing Pattinson could carry The Batman. It makes sense now that I’ve finally seen Good Time, because the same restless energy that drives Connie feels so similar to the Bruce Wayne he later played in 2022.
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