Ansel Elgort is human trash and 150 minute movies are the devil’s work, so absolutely no problem here with calling this exactly what it is: empty, lackluster, physically exhausting, and dipped in a feeling so slowcore that it makes me appreciate Bela Tarr’s breeziness. If the book is 700+ pages, this easily kicks it far into the thousands. Effectively confirmed for myself upon this day that predators aren’t just horrible because they’re predators, but also because they just never pick good movies.