Blow-Up ★★★½

I'm fed up with those bloody bitches.
I wish I had tons of money.
Then I'd be free.

Somewhat slow and dizzying, but entirely intoxicating. 1960s London is a bit of a hedonistic headtrip—I can’t imagine trying to solve a murder mystery in the midst of all that. Perhaps these mimes playing tennis can clue me into the absurdist neorealist hell we’ve entered.