Where Hill House was a body—living, breathing, heaving—Bly Manor is a vessel. A vessel that houses a collection of love stories, romantic or otherwise; some are broken and twisting, while some aim to make people and things whole. The manor holds them, these stories, even as the past fades away and memories begin to splinter. It may be a place soaked in death and loss, but it is filled with just as much tenderness and warmth. It is the people, it seems, who are the haunted ones. The house simply welcomes them in.

full review: filmdaze.net/the-haunting-of-bly-manor-review-an-devastatingly-cathartic-exploration-of-love-and-memory/

The dust never settled here. Instead, miles are swallowed by dry, coughing storms. Not rain, but masses of boiling sand and overgrown branches of lightning. Every moment, it seems, is painful. Sand clings to and roughens bodies – shoves its way into lungs. The sharp burning of the desert sun is only mollified by the heavy oceanic blues of night, mocking in their resemblance to the sea. This earth is a disintegrating one, fraying, blistering, and roiling. It is a world, as Max tells us as the film opens, of fire and blood.

Cont: filmdaze.net/the-politics-of-a-dying-world-in-mad-max-fury-road/

maybe its a sign of mental illness that this is a comfort show but god i love it so much <3

dont even ask why i watched this.

thelma: breathes
me: SHE REALLY DID THAT