The Thing ★★★★½

Assimilation, imitation. In the white canvas clear, edges of the horizon promising dread in the discoveries. Madness of man, untruth lurking behind every gaze, inside every sinister syllable of words of suspicion and back-turning. Trapped in the vast open, deserted and alone in a crowd. Paranoia colder than the frost-bitten hills. The cries of tortured souls, consumed with terror, billowed into the night, careening in the smoke and exploding fire.

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