As if a r/hhh playlist tried to mimic the aesthetic of Moonlight - truly an embarrassment. Second half plays better as it settles down, but Trey Edward Shults has no consideration for the interiority of human beings, and even less so for the functions of drama, so the whole tapestry collapses. The moods and energies of his work are completely unfounded - all anxiety and pain but no basis in concrete characterizations. Everyone in this is a type, an object to be painted all pretty and backed by music expected to do the heavy lifting, and it leads to a disingenuous visceral assault on the senses. This is a shallow kiddie pool playacting as an ocean of feeling, with a director clearly out of his league and a ensemble cast forced to sell hot-head emotions as they push towards a reductive coda. If Shults listened to 'Yeezus' and 'Blond' again and got his negative energy out, this probably wouldn't have been made. One can dream.

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