not that big on cinema tbh
more into laura branigan
Unabashedly hermetic as ever, Strickland continues to brick the window between his work and other in a self-parodying meta-satire on the pomposity of the high art world, scolding creatives and patronage alike as fellow equivalencies in the absurd pursuit of a valued expression. The meek narrator's journey through gastric disorder makes the familial inheritance from The Belly of an Architect clear, though the need for the shout-out to Les Vampires is anyone's guess (I get Fatma looks terrific in pvc.)…
The problem with capitalism is it's nobody's friend. Even those who theoretically gain the most from it are rendered invalid by their low moral worth. Because it is at such fundamental internal odds with itself, it places an invisible deadlock on progress and there can be no truly new culture, only ideas of it, and so our destiny, it seems, is to recycle and repeat old culture at lower cost, and more and more devoid of humanity, an absence which…
Phenomena upon phenomena upon phenomena.
Where are we even at with media?
What night-time lost highway are we on?
What year is this?
Who would even know how to write this up? The linguistic gymnastics it would require to detail the specific machinations of drama on display here are well out of my reach. Why even bother with a synopsis – a dutiful major is assigned to the hangover of Project Blue Book and unearths the mysteries of the evil…
Um, more like several dozen things in a few places, like barely a handful of opportune nu cinema niches, and certainly not all at once. Cute attempt at pure non-linearity, but the elements remain very much contiguous I'm afraid. Rather the mock-disorder renders any read strictly unintelligible, the whole of it exhibiting the barren necromodern form which decreasingly warrants comment.
Terrible. Dnf. The kind of thing to check out only because it's clogging up yr feed and you wanna understand what the hold-up is.