Bodies Bodies Bodies

Bodies Bodies Bodies ★★★½

Death by TikTok. Suffers from a sort of post-Uncut Gems aesthetic where in order to attract an audience a filmmaker must now become one with the A24 logo through an application of digital film grain, neon lighting, and a meditative synth score — yet no one can float in the wake of the Safdie Brothers’ beautiful chaos, so this still doesn’t really feel cinematic enough to bypass the tone of what ultimately feels like a protracted SNL skit. That said, I’ll admit, I’m intrigued by what Halina Reijn is doing narratively, transferring the self-destructive tendencies of her experiences in drama and theater into a broader satire about the nihilistic narcissism of America’s doomer-zoomer youth. Of course, it was mis-marketed as a slasher to get butts into seats, but Bodies Bodies Bodies is much more of an incessant whodunnit, in the same way that our entire culture has become a metaphorical whodunnit of paranoid buzzwords and moral superiority. It becomes, in the end, a chamber drama reflective of the tragic experience, the annihilation of sincerity and friendship in the face of the woke-moralist insistence that silence is violence, the crumbling empire of identity obsessions exploded to its logical, absurdist end where words are converted into weapons, where innocents are sacrificed and splayed upon the altar of fear, and where the natural world is not only to be contended with, but to be rankled and scoffed at (only a mansion full of elitist, rich snobs like this would throw a hurricane party). There is no respect for the logos, because the logos is the danger. The divinity of logos reveals the ineptitude and emptiness of Gen-Z modernity in all its sleek, smartphone-lit glory as we’re all left scrambling in the mud and blood of our own self-immolation, watching TikTok and pointing guns at each other. The only one who can save us now? Conner O’Malley. Because of course.

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