Don’t feel guilty for not liking ‘Maudie’

There is a certain kind of movie, a form of torture in disguise, that you are obligated to like, if you want to consider yourself a nice, sensitive, intelligent person.

According to the movie, she was a simple soul, often taken advantage of, but she had a purity of spirit that came through in her work and expressed the beauty of her inner being.

[...] though her personal life was no picnic — she was ill and ill-treated by her family — she didn’t struggle much.

[...] again, they lived in one room.

Frankly, we are left with nothing, except with a movie that insists that we love it — or worse, assumes we will — because its subject is so worthy.

In 2008, there was a French film called “Seraphine,” about the folk artist Seraphine de Senlis, which faced a similar challenge — a protagonist with a blank personality and an uneventful personal life.

[...] “Seraphine” suggested its subject was connected to the elements, to unseen mystical forces, and by the time the movie was over, we believed she was a great artist.

[...] it’s a showcase for Sally Hawkins to give one of the most heartfelt and sincere bad performances since Jodie Foster in “Nell,” all precious furtive glances and mysterious smiling.

The spectacle of the actors flailing in a vacuum makes this possible, but intermittently, so the relief comes only in bursts.

There’s a vast emptiness in “Maudie,” and ultimately every viewer’s survival strategy gets sucked right into it.

Mick LaSalle is The San Francisco Chronicle’s movie critic.