It seems appropriate that the central character in The Card Counter is named Tell. Not because he possesses the trait—Oscar Isaac portrays him as consistently devoid of expression rather than someone who can conceal his feelings—but because writer and director Paul Schrader (who appears surprisingly unengaged) relies on exposition instead of allowing events to unfold visually. One would expect more from someone involved in writing or co-writing what are considered among the greatest four Martin Scorsese films, something beyond a somewhat elaborate lesson on poker, complete with demonstrations. To illustrate this point, consider Robert Altman’s far better California Split, where Ebert observed that “We don't need to know anything about gambling to understand the journey [the protagonists] take to the racetrack, to private poker games, to bars, to Vegas, to the brink of failure and to triumph. Their compulsion is so powerful that it propels us forward.” However, The Card Counter lacks that same driving force; Bill Tillich, also known as William Tell, doesn’t gamble due to a personal failing—as seen in The Gambler with Jimmy Caan—but rather because it suits his purposes: he excels at it. He's so skilled that he not only avoids debt himself but can also pay off the debts of others. It seems he is ill-suited for any other occupation, and he has no desire to pursue anything else. As Bill says, “The wisest bet for a beginner is red/black on roulette… You win, you leave. You lose, you’re finished. That’s the only sensible casino wager.” It may be a smart strategy, but it's hardly captivating. It's difficult to imagine anyone being invested in the story of someone who knows when to quit. Consequently, Schrader turns to tactics reminiscent of 1980s professional wrestling: generating artificial audience reaction through a subplot involving the mistreatment and abuse of prisoners at Abu Ghraib in Iraq. This is a risk that doesn’t even come close to succeeding.

Source on TMDB