I went in with my arms folded. The trailer had that overproduced sheen that usually means there's nothing underneath, the premise sounded like it had been assembled by committee, and I only agreed to it because the alternative was washing up. I had my review written before the lights went down, which is a terrible way to watch anything.
It got me. Not with a twist or a set piece, but with patience. The first half hour does almost nothing showy, just lets two people be slightly awkward in a kitchen, and by the time it asked me to care I already did without noticing the handover. That's the trick the loud films never manage. They spend so hard up front that there's nothing left when it matters.
What stayed with me afterwards wasn't any single scene, it was the quiet realisation that I'd been wrong about it, and how rarely I let that happen. I'm quick to decide a thing isn't for me and then spend the rest of the runtime collecting evidence. This one didn't give me the chance.
So, a small reminder to myself, written down so it sticks: the cynicism you bring is a cost, not a defence. Sometimes the thing you expected to dislike is just good, and the only thing standing between you and noticing is you.