Having the right idea counts for something, and this movie definitely has the right idea: trashy thrillers starring incredibly good-looking people are one of the major food groups. The problem here is not being trashy enough.
As the dwelling sharer to whom the title refers, Leighton Meester is saddled with an insurmountable burden. (And no, that insurmountable burden is not SINGLE WHITE FEMALE.) In order for a "______ from hell" movie to have any dramatic stakes, there needs to be…
Wildly overdirected, tonally incoherent, at the whim of two (to be kind) non-traditional thespians, AND YET....it's a compellingly weird film. Part of that is who the director is, but not all. This is a movie made by someone with a distinct and idiosyncratic idea of what a movie is, and I'm not saying this because I think some grand classic of the cinema is going to result, but I'll watch the next thing Bella Thorne directs. Something I never thought I'd say. And yet.
Look, man, it's quarantine. Shit's weird.
Until I was ten, my dad's main source of income was from bartending, and for several years in that period he worked at a place in Downtown Brooklyn that was a brisk walk from the borough's various courthouses. This is relevant for two reasons: the main one is a prize anecdote starring my dad's friend and coworker Jimmy, wherein during a particularly busy day at the restaurant John Gotti and retinue came in seeking strong drink and a bite to…
Invariably, professing a lack of interest in something and then writing about it is going to seem performative, so I won't claim complete disinterest. I will say that the reason I ultimately watched this after holding out for months is, rather than the subject matter and involved artists, that it became one of the most successful movies of all time and won the big dick award at Venice. At a certain point, curiosity overwhelms prejudice. And, now, I get it.…
