There are no insights into internal states, no capturing of hard-to define moments of perception and consciousness, no ecstasy and transcendence. Usually with Malick, the piecing together of scenes, sounds, stray moments of conversation and voice-over ruminations is so intuitive and flowing that it’s hard to imagine how the film could have been conceived, much less assembled. If one were to guess, the actors seem to have improvised around sets of incidents and a general story. Soon she is torn between two men, an unscrupulous music company executive (Michael Fassbender) and an impossibly sweet fellow songwriter, BV (Ryan Gosling). “I try to keep the cookie jar closed,” she says, meaning her soul. [...] the vehicle he chooses here is a story with no inherent fascination and characters that are too spare even to be archetypes. Sitting through it is a chore with no reward, only the occasional flicker of relief, as when Gosling and Mara, to the accompaniment of Saint-Saens’ Symphony No.