Bacurau ★★★★★

Real-world Westworld.

An atomic bomb of rightful anger distilled into a technically impeccable synergy of genres that materializes the most brazenly malignant forces of the world into a realm where the relentlessly oppressed have the high ground. What follows is an unapologetically cathartic extirpation of evil as the regrettably necessary, yet still absolutely imperative, resource of self-defense. A literal weaponization of resistance.

While filmmakers have been very forward about the influences this feature had, which range from everything from 'Black God, White Devil' to Romero to spaghetti westerns to Tarantino to Carpenter, and critics have been more than happy to cite them in order to try to attract as much attention to this superlative, fiery piece as possible, it's relevant to also remark how distinctly original it is. At basically no point it's a film one can fully grasp and foretell where (and how) it's exactly going.

The final act, with the exuberantly set-up direct confrontation set piece, is logically the most immediately striking segment, however the steady, unhurried and mysterious fleshing-out of Bacurau, as this palpable, allegorical construct of the radical non-conformist tenacity of common people is truly the movie's greatest accomplishment.

The only good fascist is...

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