Good Time

Good Time ★★★★½

85

Truly a Motion Picture. Run or die. Not as hardcore invigorating as Heaven Knows What yet its accessibility lends a psycheledic flavor of anxiousness to the tangents and side-exits. Seeing this at a multiplex is about as odd as catching a matinee of Spring Breakers with an audience of teens: the auteur history is non-existent in spite of the vision being utterly on its own terms. The rush comes from the witness of independent work breaking past the glass, although Good Time is already jolted with a layered succession of furious explosions and shaky starts and stops. Its day-glo concrete aesthetic provides unique opposition to an internalization of action. Pattinson, in a role destined for Oscar talk, roams the entire expanse of a space with his piercing pupils. Benny Safdie is equally quiet, a raging storm momentarily settled by the unhealthy relationship he's forced to cling to. Their odyssey, conjured up from the dark wave spectrums of arcade Hell by lucid synth lines, sprints past the intital firewall of sensation by clinging to self-criticism and detachment of its uncomfortable experiences. The aural-visual tastefulness doesn't hide the rancid whiff of its exploitation; neon still illuminates Evil.

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