Midsommar ★★★★

What fucking talent. MIDSOMMAR wears a million influences on its sleeves—and wears them well; Bergman, Hitchcock, Kubrick, Lynch, Powell/Pressburger and many more but none of those icons’ influence comes close to the influence of this cinematic masterpiece. Practically ripped it off entirely. 

An expertly crafted foray into pure cinema. The formal rigor doesn’t necessarily translate all that well to any thematic resonance you’d carry with you afterward but holy hell, it’ll make you shiver and make you have a million other visceral bodily reactions. While it doesn’t really connect many dots emotionally or logically, there is a hell of a lot of meaty metatextual substance in this film. By all means it would be inaccurate to consider this film’s flashy formal tricks to be empty—every individual shot, sound cue, and design aspect of this film is in the service of the whole. No cinematic red herrings if you will. From a film theory standpoint, there is so much to chew on here—does not come as a shock that this is the product of AFI alumnus. Semiotics baby! 

Perfect, otherworldly score. Great performances. It’s all great and it’s all completely fucked—goddamn I’m messed up.

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