The direction is utterly bland. The film doesn't care about its own subject matter, or have anything to say about it.

Aged 80 Clint Eastwood has made a film that is completely different in style, tone and structure from anything he has delivered before.

Hereafter confronts a topic that could have descended into mawkish, mystical hokum, but not in Eastwood's no-nonsense, uncynical hands. He looks at death, and beyond, with clear, open, inquisitive eyes.

The film is unequivocally modern Eastwood: slow pace, human frailty, perfect cinematography, and his own composed music.