a comically bleak piece of prestige southern gothic exploitation that i'd probably have an easier time accepting the grim, self-important air of if its novelistic ideas about generational American Violence and Religion were attached to a few more cast members game for the cartoonishly evil wavelength pattinson is on (relying on a holland + stan confrontation to bring this home is such an insane miscalculation in casting) and a director who thought the material was a bit pulpier. haven't laughed as hard at anything in awhile as i did that accidental suicide in here. what i imagine would happen if someone showed this to cormac mccarthy.