A certain segment of the reading population simply shouldn't see The End of the Tour: David Foster Wallace diehards, the ones who've read Infinite Jest not just once but several times; who've internalized those famously complex sentences and who've waded through that final, unfinished novel about tax codes. When a writer means as much to you as Wallace means to so many, you really don't need to see him impersonated onscreen by that dude whose dick you saw in Forgetting Sarah Marshall.
For the rest of us, though—the more moderate fans who marvel at Wallace's essays and short stories, even as our copies of Infinite Jest remain permanently dog-eared at pg. 281—there's much to appreciate about The End of the Tour.
