Greg Vellante’s review published on Letterboxd:
It doesn’t matter how big the wall is, Nolan; paint drying is still paint drying. And in fact, the bigger the wall and the thicker the paint (and boy does Nolan have a heavy hand), the more excruciating the pretentious tedium becomes. Uninteresting visuals and who-gives-a-shit exposition pave way to the cinematic equivalent of that dude nobody invited to the party who shows up on an eighth of shrooms and starts yelling at you about space, time and reality for 2 1/2 fucking hours. And not once was I given a reason to care. I didn’t give a shit about “getting it” when the only thing I wanted to “get” was the fuck out of the theater (For the record, I was in a private, after hours showing. Would never go with a crowd.) I can’t believe this is what was supposed to be the so-called savior of the theatrical experience. Stay home.