The plot, what little there is of one, is very Lovecraftian - endless flight through a seaside town, followers of an obscure sect pursuing you even in your sleep, locked up safe in your motel. But there's an overriding voice that is reminiscent of Shirley Jackson - events taking on intimate, sinister undertones that echo and echo through claustrophobic domesticity just starting to sprawl out into a post-war infinity.
Here, we arrive at that same gas station twenty some odd…
So...this may sound like midlife crisis crazy talk, but I've had it with here/where my life is at right now, and so I've come to a very important decision on where my journey is taking me:
Grovers Bend, Kansas.
I am serious. It looks amazing. I want E.T's mom to be my mom. I wouldn't even mind having to live on a farm because I would have an awkward Billy Zane to tell me about what life is like in…
I think this movie would have hit me a lot differently a few years ago. Tbh I don't completely remember buying this VHS; it's almost like I just sort of...ended up with it? Maybe it was from my mom's collection or something
I can see how easy it would be to dismiss this as just offbeat, quirky, you know. One of those indie 90s things.
But it worked for me as a surreal trying to work out your trauma in…
Twirling around and around in a pretty white dress with strawberry ice cream at the beach is exactly how i want to finally lose all touch with reality
Ok, everyone just calm down. All we need to do is find the one person in this New England fishing town who owns a slicker.
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