Kyle Faulkner

Kyle Faulkner

not that big on cinema tbh
more into laura branigan

Favorite films

  • Making The Leftovers
  • Let the Right One In
  • Psalm III: Night of the Meek
  • Mermaid Legend

Recent activity

  • The Cathedral

  • Bye Bye Africa


  • The Little Girl Who Sold the Sun

  • Divine Carcass


Recent reviews

  • Personal Problems

    Personal Problems


    Apart from a shared marginality in the intersectionalist sense I could never presume to fully empathize with the lives and experiences depicted here, all I know is that viewing this film tonight moved me to my core and I had tears streaming down my face for the entire latter half. That feeling when yr watching something for the first time and you begin to get the sense as each image washes over you that it's truly profound. How on earth…

  • Pleasure



    This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.

    Ninja Thyberg's bold, ironically titled Pleasure at first plays out exactly as one might imagine having read the synopsis. Its initial throes of an intrepid though somewhat introverted Swedish girl's foray into the LA porn scene are benign and mechanistic, but never without tension and suspicion. In establishing her separatism from the other residents in the 'model house' she develops a quiet ambitiousness by building her social media presence and displaying an increased willingness to her agent to accommodate the…

Popular reviews

  • Twin Peaks: The Return

    Twin Peaks: The Return


    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…

  • I'm Thinking of Ending Things

    I'm Thinking of Ending Things


    Fat on lolly-bags of post-structuralist conceit, the way-past-expiry custodian of cinema's rotting pig gunpoint-coerces witness to the starbucks-wisdom of his begrudging failure to elicit connective universality through his measly particular of culture geek-outs and gender balletics whilst paying no heed to the 'game's up, chuck' soliloquys of his topological cartoon ego-projections, verminizing the audience by leading them through the permafrost mud of quarantine with daisy chains of signifiers and signifieds only to force-feed them their own exhausted shrivelled faces in…