First, let me just say one thing: Theodore Melfi’s Hidden Figures is an unchallenging film. It’s an unchallenging film about race. It’s an unchallenging film about race in 2016. But whatever, right? The film comes during the most racially charged climate of my lifetime and while a slew of cerebral and emotionally complex films have broached the subject of disenfranchisement and race relations (from Ava DuVernay’s 13th to Ezra Edelman’s O.J.: Made in America), none possess the sort of Hollywood-gloss and superficiality of Everything Being Just Fine as Hidden Figures. It is simply more pleasant to be happy than it is to be pissed off, as Hidden Figures considers the painful without the pain, aims for sincerity despite a motive, and engages without demanding.