When Kathryn Bigelow’s nuclear countdown thriller “A House of Dynamite” premiered at the Venice Film Festival in early September, it was greeted with a chorus of praise. Just about every critic there called the movie tense, dazzling, nail-biting, and rhapsodized over what they saw as Bigelow’s stunning craftsmanship. It was clear to me that I had seen a totally different film — an overheated but “breathless” piece of doomsday pulp that repeated the same scenario three times (a rogue nuke speeding toward Chicago, where it’s set to drop and explode in 20 minutes), less effectively each time.
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