The content of this story is like a knockoff Jackson Pollock painting...let's just throw some paint on a canvas and see if anything sticks. This follow-up to Amirpour's excellent debut feature tries so hard to be some socially conscious, poetic, dystopian American vision and fails on all fronts; props to Waterhouse and Momoa for giving their worst impressions of a southern girl and Tony Montana respectively.
Admittedly I only watched the first 30 minutes of it but I doubt it gets much better after that. The pacing is horrible and the film tries to make up for its lack of genuine craft and artistic invention by complete randomness and a kind of self-detached irony in meaningless details. My guess is they recruited all their crew at a New York art school. Has bullshit written all over it, no wonder Vice produced it.
There is plenty of style here, but at the expense of the story. You can't take a guy like Momoa, and have him pretend to be non-verbal, or that crappy accent he uses. It had many directions it could have taken and that was the problem. Having Suki wander around in a drug-fueled daze, or having Keanu trying to explicate the meaning of shit just doesn't work.
I actually enjoyed it much more than her debut. It's an impressionist film that goes against expectations and wants to answer way less than it wants to ponder. A love story, satire and cannibal flick rolled into one with bizarre mise-en-scène and a dash of absurd. Not for the types who left their sense of humour in the closet though.
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.
This was so unbelievably pretentious. The majority of the film consisted of two or more characters staring each other down, with the rest split between a fond overuse of indie music and some actual plot thrown in for good measure. South Park really hit the nail on the head when they said Netflix will buy any old shit.
Well, this one's a pickle and on the brink: it almost works. Often it feels like an overlong Lana Del Rey music video; artsy fartsy shock vibes with a hipsterish (albeit very good!) soundtrack. Is this some kind of Tank Girl for the 2010s? Maybe, if you took out the humour and replaced it with faux-emo-trash-cool-pop-sincerity. The first half is pretty obnoxious, but the flick does grow on me, somewhat. 2,5.
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.
Starts of well enough, a young girl in a dystopian future is sent to a fenced off area where the bad batch must stay. She's soon caught by cannibals, but escapes eventually with the loss of a few limbs. Things start getting interesting from there but for me, it seems to all fall apart by the end. Love the cameo by Jim Carrey and Keanu Reeves is super creepy too.
What an utter load of amateur circus shit. It gets lucky at times for no other reason than the odd circus shit sticks. Reminded me of what a shamozzle of self indulgent and inexpert energy created Southland Tales. Hope for all shitty filmmakers everywhere: if only some cockhole will finance your super farts.