The sophomore slump hits Amirpour after her arresting debut feature that for all its narrative weaknesses dripped a hip cool. This film fails on near every level and its engineered hipness grates in its desperation. The dystopian desert locale is well past its expiration date. Performances are terrible across the board but worse is the scripting which goes nowhere (the Reeves monologue particularly awful). Shame.
Amirpour's already dire pursuit of "cool" is a mirage-deceiv'd march unto starvation. This is arid vacuity. This thing wanders so far out into emptiness that I marvel that a halfway-spiritual being is even able to perceive it. That the film has now found a home on Netflix poses a problem: the only people w/ any likelihood of finding anything here will be a type persistently distracted by their smartphones.
[MOTEL/x '17] I so don't get this 2.7 average Rating...//This is a Southland Tales 2.0. One of the best post-apocalyptic films of this century, bar none. The best boombox-shaped DJ 'booth' (a mobile one at that) of all-time - Diego Luna in his best Cowboy Vincent Gallo Vitalic-sounding (actually Jaar/Darkside).
This is a hauntingly beautiful and hypnotic film with a very dirty sexy kind of vibe. Suki Waterhouse is a revelation here and this ensemble cast of character actors are brilliant. Ana Lily Amirpour proves here that she is one of the most unique and original talents to come out of the cinema in the last ten years.
America in the Trump Age: the Mexican-funded wall separates the Deplorables from the Neo Nazi-Neoliberals and every day is Burning Man. It looks like the desert of the real, but it's really a jungle (Think Calais). Mors tua vita mea. Forget gluten free & veganism: it's all paleo. The leaders of the pack are Sandokan and Pablo Escobar. It's the end of the world, but family values still matter. Final score: Madder Max.
Although Amirpour clearly knows how to shoot, she thinks she's being transgressive and provoking people when she's mos def not. This film is ridiculous and pointless and Waterhouse's acting is embarrassing. If there wasn't the opportunity to stare at Momoa's marvelous tits, this would've been a totally waste of time.
A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night was as silly as much as it was hipster showboating... but its style and storytelling were as meaningful as it was gripping. I loved it! The Bad Batch, however, is seldom as balanced or striking. The narrative is respectably coherent without spoonfeeding, yet this time Amirpour's telling and style rubbed the wrong way, being distancing and alienating, instead of emotionally entrancing.
Annapurna Pictures' stylish trailer suggested a sun-baked, synth-soaked tale of cannibalism and revenge in a near future America. The actual film bears some resemblance to that, but is more of a character-driven ensemble with stop-and-start pacing, in which a great deal of tension is generated but no catharsis found. Fortunately, the talented cast is given a chance to shine, particularly Suki Waterhouse in the lead.