I've never seen Ragú sauce play such a heartbreaking role in a movie before.
Watched with mom.
Title becomes evident during the second half, but that doesn't ruin the case. I'm setting a reminder that a story does not have to be cliched, but what matters is that how it should work. And this film does a good case.
Powerful last 40 minutes. Truly what to expect, while making me clearly emphatic.
Holy shit this is the perfect description of masculine ecstasy I've ever spotted on film. Everything is on point: the lengthy buildup with the dressing and bike repairing, the fitting selection of early 60s hits, and the downward submersion into ballsy chaos.
Gives Anger a good reputation for its last name.