Despite some obvious (and beautiful) formalist conceits (cf. the depth of field as Elio watches Oliver dance), durative structural aspirations seem to be disregarded as the camera loses itself entirely in the momentary (which isn’t to say noncumulative) inner worlds of individuals and relationships—and to speak of Guadagnino’s “style” here is to speak less of his camera than his curiosity and discovery, his awe and gratitude for a Whitmanian world where even fucking is a cosmic event in which the trees outside participate.
A director clearly at play; you can tell Eastwood just had a blast making this. Structurally reckless and tonally spontaneous, with some of the most lively mise en scène of his entire career. There were more than a few jaw-dropping shots which made me think, "This is Eastwood?!" He's beyond taking risks at this point, making films on no one's terms but his own. I can't help but think of what Rossellini said about Chaplin's A King in New York: "This is the film of a free man."