~ auteur hex girl ~
vhs zoomer, no taste but bad taste, wkw's goth wife
A sterile time and place. Siodmak toys with noir and Reich Wave as symbiotic capsules of inhumanity, teetering dangerously close to romanticizing the sense of pride and communion in the Nazi party, but for all its “could’ve been yikes” moments, there are sprints of clear historical trauma from an artist who clearly survived a system he hated and feared. Sobered to disreality of fascist justice. The elite aren’t your friends. They’re a slaughterhouse dressed as a formal charade.
Druid youth as a stream-of-consciousness. One of the best parts of this is realizing how much it is *not* how it was advertised, shedding its skin to reveal a wall-to-wall godless, sickly, and beautiful series of life-affirming zen states. Psychic monologues with eyes to the sky, the seizing of veins and entrails, transforming earthly meat into spells to transcend the limits of humanism. Stolevski, maybe by accident(?), made one of the most optimistic horror movies of recent. We live on an ugly plane of existence, but Mother Nature never stops giving back to us. Bewitching.