Vox Lux

Vox Lux ★★★★

"I got more number-one hits than an AK-47's standard 30 round magazine."

Mics on, fangs bared, glitters bedazzled, the cameras restlessly charge ahead in tune with the chaotic mess of that fateful day in 1999 and the more quiet, dread-laced massacre of the present day 2017. A pinkish, translucent thread of the glitz & glamour serving as a link to some seemingly distant past, connecting life and death together as well as darkness and strobe lights. The unflinching images of terrorism, mass killings bring violent throbs to the brain while Celeste leans back in the toxic waste of tragedy, exuding the cheap stench of perfume, mixing of blood and alcohol. Singing with a dreamy tone yet almost unbearably piercing vocals, synth-ridden tracks played by a damaged performer - a lost girl - Vox Lux fleshes itself out exactly like perforation of the guts. 

Celeste's voice has given her a way to stardom as it then deliberately morphs into her coping mechanism against trauma, thereby showing that this is not a run-of-the-mill portrait of an artist’s highs-and-lows, musical revelation or endorsement. Constantly being on the verge of a breakdown, heavily intoxicated she mocks and sneers the world before her, but unlike other singers, she sings in order TO LIVE ON. Regenesis - It is her only way to scrape off the dirt rooted in her mind, repressing and holding back the pain that might pour out eventually. The script is darkly polished, scattered with unique ideas, sharp wits and undulating sadness in its core. Brady Corbet’s ponderous fixation on the showbiz culture is disorientingly hypnotic but ultimately leaving many things out in the haze. There are parts and bits that felt undone because by having been given such an interesting approach, I never wanted the curtain to close. Why are people falling head over heels for Ally when Celeste is busy blasting our faces off with her poppy hits?

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