Josiah Morgan’s review published on Letterboxd:
Storyline: no idea what the fuck happened.
Theme: quite simple, really, about how we define and interpret ourselves within our own lives. A pseudo-genre film, we see each other through a screen put up by ourselves, but how do we know the screen we put up is interpreted the way we intend?
Reminds me of the wild, evolving, intangible form of Physical Theatre transposed into the language of cinema; a format as obsessed with human biology as it's possible to get, and indeed Holy Motors is too, the human body portrayed as a window into the symbiosis between nature and man-made ideals.
Transposing genre cliches with a lack of a defined genre into a whirlwind two hours of cinema, Carax's bonafide masterpiece often shows characters watching scenes of nothing much in particular.
Despite the obtuse nature to many of Holy Motors, it often makes a sharply intuitive kind of sense, in the strangest possible way.
Freudian cinema at it's finest, the Id functioning without impairment from ego or superego.
Ask me what happens, I couldn't tell you. Ask me what it's about, and I couldn't stop talking.