Eva has written 5 reviews for films rated ★★★½ during 2020.

  • The Funhouse

    The Funhouse


    scooby doo but really mean

  • She Dies Tomorrow

    She Dies Tomorrow


    seimetz's work is fleet and multivalent in its semiotics, not performing arthouse charlatanisms of vaporous suggestion but rather operating in a dialectic between the concrete and abstract realities of affect. this dialectic unfolds in outward-spiralling epicyclic transformations, prominently realized in the rapturous hallucinations that signal the onset of certain mortality for the quotidian maladapted. trauma exists as a half-spoken omnipresence, but moreso in the viscera and microbiome of the film's most aesthetically outre gestures than in its elliptical, temporally disjoint…

  • Midori



    a good account of how misogynistic commodification and consumption of vulnerable girls and their bodies is as much in force at the margins as it is everywhere else, a counterpoint to the fantasy of community in the presence of other freaks which is as bluntly miserabilist in its narrative momentum as possible but whose moments of abstraction are so rapturous that the monotonicity of the rest is forgivable. great gowns, beautiful gowns....maybe pair it with Katherine Dunn's Geek Love? idk

  • Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn)

    Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn)


    a Certified Good Time at the Movies, owning up to the titular character's origins as a literal cartoon character right from the start, less concerned with the kind of faux-verisimilitudinous posturing that seems to infect the aesthetic sensibilities and fight choreography of every superhero movie made in the last decade than it is with being clean, dumb candy-colored fun. definitely aware of its own uselessness as the kind of liberal feminist text its superficial branding and narrative trajectory are trying…

  • Burnt Offerings

    Burnt Offerings


    a shockingly mean-spirited joke at the expense of the classic family, Karen Black’s Marion a housewife so devoted to her work of tidying and caretaking that she becomes a mere instrument of the home she tends so lovingly, Oliver Reed’s hypermasculine swagger reduced to a child cowering in the corner of a room by a semi-elided childhood trauma, the so-called perfect home feeding on its inhabitants to reinscribe an eternal, ahistorical image of outward perfection and family complete. what a strange, bleak, and ungainly thing this is, and the better for it