Honestly, there is no exclamatory phrase in the tool belt of even a happy-mouthed Guy Fieri that can do justice to how strictly enjoyable The Hours is, especially for it's subject matter. It's basically an infinite recursion of intertextual frame narratives that center on the novel Mrs. Dalloway, which I had not read, but am currently reading...because of this movie.
The screenplay is tight, hyper-aware of what it is doing and does so without feeling cumbersome much of the time. There is a particularly perfect spot where Meryl Streep's character discusses 'prescience', which is really the theme of the whole movie, and maybe even of Mrs. Dalloway...more to come on that.
Bonus points: Nicole Kidman is unrecognizable, and really ceases to be herself while assuming Virginia Woolf, Phil Glass NAILS it on a score that ebbs and flows with the film's surrendering subjects and there's even a gorgeous scene where a hotel room quickly becomes what may or may not be Julianne Moore's final self-inflicted watery grave.