can’t believe they made a movie about me
Rhetorical annihilation. It should probably concern me that one of the most fucked-up and experientially unpleasant things I’ve ever seen is now something of a comfort film to me, but there’s a primal rhythm to this that makes all the carnage seem equivocal and measured, even when it so clearly isn’t. Torn between amusement and horror at how quickly the self-aggrandising insouciance of its characters collapses into abject desperation, which is part of why I suspect this has become a…
“Our deadly passion…our terrible joy”
Perhaps my thoughts will be tempered by the passage of time, seeing as the experience of finding out that this was the LFF Surprise Film and having my favourite filmmaker introduce the film he’s been trying to make for nearly his entire life prior to it beginning was one of the most purely euphoric experiences I’ve ever had. That being said- this is undoubtedly the best film of the festival, the year and of whatever…
A film constantly positioned within irreconcilable contradictions (i.e. dialectics)- the physics of hydraulics and metaphysics, the living son of a mistress and the dead son of a wife, the impenetrable vampiric public persona and the deeply insecure grieving father, the sudden rush of euphoric transcendence beyond the mortal coil and the swift, violent tragedy of chance that brings it to an end. Two objects cannot occupy the same point in space at the same moment in time. The Latest of late styles- in other words, a masterwork.