Mysterious Skin

Gregg Araki leaves behind the brash expressivity and amateurish immediacy of his earlier work and explores emotionally direct, almost ordinary filmmaking for the first time, quite successfully. cycles and epicycles of abuse crash against typically Araki-an preoccupations with suburbia and millennial conspiracism, which then become recontextualized as toxic microcosm and failed coping mechanism, respectively. the empathy here is really something, miraculous because it asks for no forgiveness and understands that breaking free requires none. nothing coheres by the end but of course it shouldn’t: Brady Corbet’s nose is still bleeding

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