The dialogue in this movie was written by an alien from a planet where every sentient being is a testosterone-soaked warrior-poet. The boilerplate narrative resolution and fight choreography don’t quite do it justice.
This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
Brooding sci-fi pic Womb somewhat redeemed Benedek Fliegauf’s leery, juvenile voyeurism, pretentiously elliptical pacing, underwritten script, and general arthouse-poseur vacuity with some very pretty cinematography and especially bonkers psychosexual melodrama. Here, in a leery, claustrophobic, snidely misanthropic exploitation of the real-life suffering of marginalized people, he lets his ugliest tendencies run wild without the unintended levity. Just the Wind shows a great deal of interest in filth, cruelty and the particulars of its martyred teen girl protagonist’s body*, and a big zero…