The first thing I notice is how James Carrington speaks about the idea of a man who is "uneducated" in one of the film's meta segments. If anything it reminds me of the way some of the boys speak in a program my college calls Sustained Dialogue. It's a weekly discussion group where you learn to have calm discussions about prejudice and identity, and how it affects us. Some members are more prepared than others. One question stands out to…
I am noticing this film stops working once you can no longer trust Carruth, as character, or as a guiding hand. It's a gentle balance, for a film hanging on it being narratively impenetrable, a so called puzzle movie where the puzzle pieces don't actually explain the scenes we see, it needs to work emotionally for us to understand the connection.
If we can't trust Carruth, and his intentions, the film becomes undefinable b-roll, or worse, a straightforward narrative of…
fuck "narrative". I want formless anxiety, nihilism, and a craving of death bathed in neon lights and a healthy sense of dread
also wouldn't complain about a tour of Amy Seimetz's house, Kate Lyn Sheil just doing wherever the hell she does, Chris Messina just... there? some quality reasons to go to therapy for a long long time, experimental filmmaker James Benning planning on making the girls of mumblecore into leather jackets, some hell dimension Mozart, that picture of Amy Seimetz directing this in a Rihanna shirt, and a bloody Jane Adams on a pool float
but seriously, fuck narrative. I want my brain FRIEEEEED BABYYYYY