Kyle Faulkner’s review published on Letterboxd:
An inert polysemy of pure covidian disconnect. Jessica works against the odds to restore nature, to become one with Earth. All the spiritual intrigue cultivated in the first hour, aural hallucination suggestive of otherness communicating across the grain of indifferent civic development, is then confined to her ahistorical singularity. A totemic dog's curse become tribal become supernatural become extraterrestrial, all possibly. A film that desperately needs a natural epiphany to uncomplicate and ignite its thematic knots, modernity as a perpetual wind-tunnel, but when the psychoactive toxins take, despite her dubious alignment with the maladies of a local medicine man, the misexperience and amnesia become as icy and impersonal and undefined as ever, the delicate science of slow cinema, as all too often, left static and ponderous, coasting entirely on a hollow ideational nexus. I felt nothing. I want a hug, not another blackpill. Cinema is fragile, and so are we. Sorry Joe. The point of course is there is no splendour in this cemetery. Careful what you wish for, boo.