Midsommar

Am I laughing or crying or screaming, bored and exhausted, or excited and euphoric?

I find it to be pointless, bloated, and overall pompous. It gave me a humming sort of maddeningly painless, irritating tiny minuscule little headache that lasted until I had went to bed. I thought the humor to be unearned, misplaced and in direct opposition to the very existence of the film. 

I think it may be wonderful under something: some fat to be trimmed, some muscle to be added...just something so much less, for lack of better words, hate-able and distant. It is so far removed from itself. So...unsatisfied.

I love flowers. I love Sweden. I love dancing with flowers and Swedish women. I love horror and drama, examinations of larger topics through the smaller genre tropes and cinematic situations. I hate constant, assaulting exposition and drab plotting. I hate shock value for the sake of shock value, mild “disturbance” in the absence of anything compelling. 

So maybe I’m all of the above.

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