Steven Soderbergh has spent the better part of the last few decades operating less like a traditional Hollywood auteur and more like a restless cinematic mechanic. He is the kind of director who will follow up a massive, star-studded studio hit with a micro-budget experiment shot entirely on a mobile phone, seemingly just to see if he can pull it off. This unpredictable streak makes his filmography incredibly erratic, but it also means that when he hits the sweet spot, the results are wildly entertaining. With his feature, The Christophers, working from a razor-sharp script by Ed Solomon, Soderbergh manages a particularly tricky tonal pivot. On paper, the project looks like a standard, slick art-world heist movie. In execution, however, it transforms into an intimate, blackly comedic chamber piece that cares far less about the mechanics of the crime than it does about family trauma, artistic ego, and the transactional nature of modern relationships. The narrative introduces us to Julia...