There’s something wrong with Carol White - it’s a sneeze in the opening scene of the film, it’s the couch she meticulously picked out to match her house that comes in the wrong colour, it’s the way she doesn’t laugh at a sexist joke told over dinner - all these small ways she unwittingly disturbs the peace of her homemaker life. This wrongness is pervasive, and takes effect on her body, as if without her consent it begins to reject…
I left the theatre cackling, feeling energised and in love with cinema and life and women - and yet the film also made me anxious and worried and grossed out and violently sad. What a fucking film!!! I'm not 100% convinced on the last minute or so, but this ticked off every single visual kink I can think of and I want horror girls to take over the whole world!
Tom Ford sits at his desk in his very nice house and a very nice suit that cost a lot of money. What is a good plot for a film? He thinks to himself. Ah, I know. I'm going to show that true artistic expression is good but we live in a harsh society that privileges money and the only art that makes an impact is the art that reflects this, so it's empty and ugly and obnoxious.