Relatable because I also trust films more than the government.

A thematic reversal of the themes of Antonioni's original, trading the societal ennui of the 60s for the rampant mistrust of the 80s; instead of devising a narrative where there likely isn't one, De Palma's version makes absolutely clear that the narrative is not just there, but it's observable, a conspiratorial actuality entrenched in the generational disenfranchisement. The perfect scream, lost into the void of fiction and superficiality.

Strange and mad, incomprehensible and disturbing in equal measure. I'm pretty sure it's a metaphor for heroin addiction and a meta narrative that presents a story as he writes it, that acts as a study of a drug-addicted writer. It's absolutely wild, extremely confusing, and strangely boring at times, but it has at least one consistent factor: it is utterly repelling from the first moment to the last. This came out the same year as Barton Fink, which did the whole 'troubled writer' much better.

The inescapability of a personal history of violence as a metaphor for the inescapability of the history of American violence. The American Dream is built on top of nightmare upon nightmare upon nightmare, and sometimes those nightmares see the light of day and the Dream - a pleasant small-town family life where you work hard and are well-liked and happy - is suddenly exposed for the facade it is, a mask of upstanding righteousness covering for the horrors inflicted to reach this point, and the potential barbarity it may take to maintain it. The American Dream is a contaminated, selfish lie.

Aaron Sorkin is way too good a writer to be forced to work with such a mediocre director as Aaron Sorkin