Compassion breaks the backbone of the "real man". That's the theme here. Look, I love me a whole lot of David Mamet, but... there's a filter here, now. I can see what's going on.

The problem with “Henry Johnson” is that we’ve heard it all by now — in fact, we’re living it — and what once felt like a cruel breath of fresh air has acquired the stifling nature of a pose.

The text might not be vintage Mamet, but it’s a real meal.

It’s an entertaining piece, and Mamet’s direction is lean and strong, the blocking and montage exquisite. The story does resonate, too, but overall it lacks the superstar qualities of Mamet’s best work.