brat pitt’s review published on Letterboxd :
over the years since his sophomore feature, alex ross perry’s spitfire dialogue has only grown more poetic, his claustrophobic close-ups more controlled.
as he juggles the black tones of nihilism with the spice of surrealism, colors blur, lines blur, lines cross. a thick slurry of sludge, sluicing into a 9 minute 40 second quiet implosion of a long take.
reminded me of when my little brother and i were in the backseat of my dad’s car on the way to elementary school and his nose started bleeding and i instinctively put my hands on his face to stop it and we both walked into class with crimson all over our palms. there isn’t any explicit bleeding in this film, though. it’s all internal.