hellaluther’s review published on Letterboxd:
I've been sitting here trying to think about how to write this review without saying the word pretentious. I haven't really come to any conclusions so I decided to start writing a review about writing a review. I suppose I'll use this next sentence to say something poignant about the social aspects of letterboxd and how it perpetuates an arbitrary popularity contest between assholes and diminishes the act of actual film discussion. Then I'll use this next segment to point out how this review will probably be skimmed over by like 10-15 people, 4-5 of whom will actually make the effort to like it in return for future likes from me. Maybe if I'm lucky someone will actually read my review and derive some useless information from it. The next paragraph will be about why I even bother to write reviews.
I think creative writing is probably the best way to understand my own opinions. Transcribing loose thoughts to paper in an attempt to edify and rationalize my brains natural reaction to light and sound. Dissecting and maybe even discussing why I think some things are a certain way and why other people agree or disagree is a good way to get some perspective on my own opinions and those of others. I'm going to cut this paragraph short because it's becoming redundant and I doubt anyone really even cares about my self justification for being an asshat on the internet.
At this point I'm wondering how masturbatory I can get with this review right now without completely loosing all of the faux-legitimacy my opinions carry on this shithole. I figure since the French just drenched my face with ropes of thick salty meta-commentary I have free reign to unload my wad into the unsuspecting eyes of anyone reading this. Maybe I should talk about my crippling depression or maybe I could say some words on how we're all useless sacks of shits wasting our lives in-front of a screen for some fleeting sense of false self satisfaction. I could talk about how western society is basically autistic and we all live within our own little worlds nurtured by the internet and 4G. I could talk about that one time I took acid and watched Blood In Blood Out at some cholo's house while his brother threatened us incessantly with a knife. I'm probably just going to close out with a paragraph praising Holy Motors in a pathetic attempt to seem self aware.
Holy Motors is true film making. Nothing adds up, and it doesn't need to. Denis Lavant gives one of the best performances I've ever seen. If you're unaware, it's predictable that you will not be able to keep up with Carax. He sends us into a sinister, dark Paris which features the typical sights, but nevertheless is eerily empty. It is a Paris from the eyes of a blind man, who opens the doors to a cinema for us in a great overture.