The film’s promotion of self-esteem is relentless and typically American, in that it takes the idea of believing in yourself to the point of unconscious cruelty and then past it. The script endlessly belabors the point that Meg is the most important thing in the universe. I know that this is intended as counterprogramming for a world that tells black girls they’re worthless, but lies aren’t homeopathic–you can’t grow someone’s self-esteem to the right ​degree by encouraging her to be a solipsist. All that’ll do is give her another set of reasons to hate herself, since the human being never seems more ridiculous to itself than when it mistakes itself for God. (Why do you think so many white men are weirdos?)

Phil Christman’s review of the A Wrinkle in Time movie is a real barn-burner.