Titane ★★★★★

Femininity as feral, firey violence; masculinity as docile, watery submission.

Crash made in a generation with an innate need to put labels to every individual feeling, here that urge is reductive. A cold, metallic study of violence, responding to a world obsessed with ownership in bodily (auto)nomy. Perceptive society is as easily fooled as driving without lifting the parking brake, everything is about image and first impressions. Car shows are decked out with near nude women and human eroticism, because heaven forbid men are forced to reckon that they are aroused by their own game of mechanical one-upmanship. Bodies are as disposable as family, simply places to rest one's conscious, a safety net of security without expression. Sex is just a way of passing the time, cravings saved for bruises left by machines that are not so easy to tame at the stroke of a hand. Long live the new flesh!

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