I am here for feminist essay film, teen movies by depressed people, shock horror, anything the La Femis 2000s lesbians have ever touched, Kermit's Swamp Years, and Amy…
I'm Thinking of Starting Things.
She sits on the other side of the bar. She is a challenge. She laughs with her girlfriend, and there is not a man in sight between then to provide competition. She does not waste time pretending to know your words, inquisitive as to vocabulary you spit as you scribble a number on a napkin; she is a poet, a painter, a physicist; she worships Pauline Kael and derides the maximalism of performance, A Woman…
I am noticing this film stops working once you can no longer trust Carruth, as character, or as a guiding hand. It's a gentle balance, for a film hanging on it being narratively impenetrable, a so called puzzle movie where the puzzle pieces don't actually explain the scenes we see, it needs to work emotionally for us to understand the connection.
If we can't trust Carruth, and his intentions, the film becomes undefinable b-roll, or worse, a straightforward narrative of…
fuck "narrative". I want formless anxiety, nihilism, and a craving of death bathed in neon lights and a healthy sense of dread
also wouldn't complain about a tour of Amy Seimetz's house, Kate Lyn Sheil just doing wherever the hell she does, Chris Messina just... there? some quality reasons to go to therapy for a long long time, experimental filmmaker James Benning planning on making the girls of mumblecore into leather jackets, some hell dimension Mozart, that picture of Amy Seimetz directing this in a Rihanna shirt, and a bloody Jane Adams on a pool float
but seriously, fuck narrative. I want my brain FRIEEEEED BABYYYYY
This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
Listen, I'm as surprised as you are to be here with this rating. There is still more progress to be made, but this may be the most faithful to what Louisa May Alcott wanted, especially Jo March. I mean, that's why we're here, isn't it? I had fallen in love with the book as a child. Jo March was young me: headstrong, stubborn, chasing after dreams, and never, EVER wanting to fall in love with a man. And she never…