A Welcome Letter/ Catholic Church

Ewan McGregor is charged with writing a memoir of Pierce Brosnan who is a former British prime minister, and the process is obviously aware of a number of background on the life and political activity of statesman, is this, in a nutshell, the premise of The Ghost Writer, last (in every sense I suppose, given the implications of the news) Polanski film.
The system is basically that of the spy movie, and despite the interpretations of school protagonists have reduced I-Miss Cross a careerist bitch, 'ste merde-two hours straight are pretty good interweaving without jolts nor big falls.
However, there are several things that drag the film to below the line after which you can claim to have their seven euro well spent.
The blend of suspense spy and a generous dose of pseudo-biting humor British bankruptcy, forcing the film to keep a foot in both camps with results similar to those of the third and disastrous exit English Woody Allen, Cassandra's Dream, and it bringing in its soundtrack, which would be distressing, but not too much, and instead seems simply taken accidentally by a film of Harry Potter, or the trash Danny Elfman, to want to be generous.
The thing that bothered me though is how the film takes place not so much on current events political history alluded to in a romantic and very vague, but rather on the people, or rather the character of Brosnan, model without too many congratulations to Tony Blair.
Now, I'm not a particular supporter of the aforementioned, but I find some shit to cover improper motivation on time and without resorting instead to a revival of the fictional events that leverage is very popular sentiment these days that it was the British prime minister raises. Remission
permanently with another couple of factors: on the one that is at the heart of a story in which many people took positions to fuck a dog instead of being one's own business (AKA Roman P.), I did not expect so manipulative treatment and cut with an ax of the human story of a person in the film is not even considered for what has done, given the nature of fictional narrative, but rather for the public figure who is, and for forms that have been put on me, the most pathetic thing is that behind this summary rubbish, you can see a certain amount of patriotism negative as if the author (the book, this time) claims the world's eyes on his little island which is now more talk about him for the fuck of Terry than anything else. Remember-seems to be the warning of the film James Bond, Jack the Ripper and Lady Diana were all British, are not invented cocks Stieg Larsson, Tony Gilroy, or who for them.