To quote the guy I overheard when leaving the cinema, “that was wank.” It is not entirely without merit, of course, but it nevertheless failed to engender a pervasive sense of dread or sadness or that something is clearly, fundamentally wrong in this storyworld. That’s not for a want of trying, exactly, but the film frequently forsakes any attempts at building an ominous or otherwise oppressive atmosphere for easy, bombastic haunted house scares to which I quickly became numb. That…
I admire this film's brazenness and (fucked) imagination, and appreciate what it's trying to do, but its overly loose structure precluded any deep investment on my part - a shame, because I love Flying Lotus more than anything. Still, at the very least, it makes a persuasive argument for Busdriver acting as the Chorus for every film made from this point forward.