Zachary Goldkind (aka, Chaim Kindergelt)’s review published on Letterboxd:
The maximalism doesn’t help cover up the rather auxiliary mode that the entirety of the work is operating within. It’s a cogent idea, but played out with platitudes one finds in first year philosophy courses, translating an incommensurable generational gap (and its contradictions as we attempt to confront the psychological affects that are provoked in this probeable process) into the very macro ‘spanning of time.’ And perhaps I’m being less generous because it’s aesthetic construction is made of pastiche and lacks any identity that would lend to elevating a reading of the always-surface-text, but the cloying and incessant flourishes of peripheral humor is rather laborious and weighs heavily on the film’s ability to extract the pathos that isn’t being actively interpelated by the universalism of the gap. I truly believe that the way audiences have interacted with this film, their projection onto its offerings, is of more use and of more profundity than this can ever begin to imagine coming close to. I only say this with the assumption that others shared in a similar experience re: my position as spectator, both feeling and analyzing the work before me. I felt mostly what I brought to it, the film itself never much having an idea of its own.