[Needs updated review.]

Such a bleak, dismal experience it is to view BUFFALO ‘66. Like a self portrait painted with one’s own blood, in the way that it’s hauntingly visceral, and so deeply authentic and raw that it’s basically impossible to not at least acknowledge the impressive lengths Gallo has gone to to express his vision. The fact that this is a debut is mind-blowing, as there’s so much talent and craft on display here. This film is so innovative and engrossing, and it was really just impossible to look away from. Many will complain about how Gallo’s ego gets in the way of really finding a connection with his audience, but I’d argue that that was never really his goal. This film is such an ugly, damning deconstruction of it’s own creator that only someone as self-obsessed, yet brilliant as Vincent Gallo could create. It’s not about trying to make a likeable anti-hero, or attempting to tell a story that audiences will relate to. This film is entirely Vincent Gallo’s auteuristic vision, for better or for worse.