Not a critic, just pretending
I write about movies and other stuff on Substack
I have a soft spot for movies that make me want to be more thoughtful, more thorough, as I go through life. There’s a certain magic to a film that definitely knows that it’s special, but isn’t interested in trying to convince you that it’s special. Instead, Drive My Car is content to just exist, whether we think it’s perfect or not. But for whatever it’s worth, I one thousand percent agree that it is, indeed, a perfect movie
Simplicity is king! Go Jim for finding the easiest way possible to make something that truly works
I’m so torn. On the one hand, Alex Garland (as previously mentioned) is one of the only filmmakers who make me feel like I’m literally on fire. Not a damn thing different happening here. This third act lit me up like a goddamn post-prom bonfire.
I think it’s Garland’s evolving relationship with subtext that’s causing me conflict. Ex Machina’s makes you dig, Annihilation’s is there if you’re actually listening, but Men’s is forcing its hand through the mail slot to slap…
This really feels like PTA’s love letter to the valley that he grew up with. It’s tender, it takes its time, and it draws you into its atmosphere without a single seam in sight. Every performance is a bullseye, every needle drop is precise, and every beat of this story is exactly as it should be. Yet another masterpiece from one of our generation’s greatest storytellers