Well, they can't all be under-the-radar triumphs.
Every note in this pompous, stilted garbage rings phony like the ID of a 19-year-old trying to get into a bar. If this is another absurdist Lanthimos black comedy, it needs better timing and a lot more actual laughs; if, on the other hand, this is the Haneke-swiping Slab 'o Art it appears to be, maybe it doesn't need bits like Colin Farrell threatening to feed his son his own hair. Lags a distant second, quality-wise, behind Night of the Bloody Apes as far as movies with actual open-heart surgery footage go, and wholly unworthy of Farrell's magnificent beard.
This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
Rather than a proper review, I'd like to address something I've been seeing a lot vis-a-vis this here movie. In other words, I'm about to break this shit down real small.
Great visual experience, but oh that ending! That seems to be a standard knock on Panos Cosmatos's sumptuous, thrilling sensory blast Beyond the Black Rainbow, to where even its champions feel like apologizing the last fifteen away. Nuts to that. Its ending is terrific, a sudden disorienting gearshift that…