Dyspeptic and sleazy and often as thick-headed as the selfish, solipsistic assholes around which its languid narrative unfurls, Paul Schrader’s The Canyons presents an unprecedented and unmitigated perspective on Hollywood’s toxic affluence, as judgmental as it is enamored of the iniquitous lives it depicts. It is a mess, certainly, but a fascinating, sometimes brilliant one, and necessary—a bizarre coalescence of influences and talents representative of and germane to the obsessions of its progenitors. Directed by Schrader and written by Bret…

More tk at Mubi but this is an achingly beauteous and painful portrait of a complicated, toxic co-dependent relationship. Empathetic without veering into saccharine, it has flawed, yearning, damaged, flesh-and-blood characters (though no one acts or talks like people; the film adheres to a weird but consistent internal logic) that, while retaining the self-destructive and selfish tendencies of PTA’s other characters, feel more complicated, worth caring about instead of just watching them destroy themselves. Anderson, who has in the past…