And now, it’s time for yet another piece of art with strong conceptual ideas hamstrung by inferior execution:
And now, it’s time for yet another piece of art with strong conceptual ideas hamstrung by inferior execution:
Conformist cultural commentators on the interwebs like to boast about how TV’s toppled film in recent years.
With seemingly the entire film industry having contracted the plague of sequelitis, why don’t these endless franchises preface each installment with “previously on” montages, the sort popularized during television’s serialization epoch?
Isn’t it a little too early in the year to be bitching about the Academy Awards?
The Royal Court’s not the only artistic entity that’s recently investigated the devastating consequences wrought from insidious toxic masculinity.
In addition to wrestling with how portions of Permission have lodged themselves in my psyche, inspiring me — through the sheer force of will that is artistic brilliance — to reevaluate my own (if I may say so myself, quite happy) relationship, I’m now also left wondering why the movie didn’t receive a proper theatrical release.
Hyper-verbal, yet still cinematically expressionistic, adult relationship dramas are unfortunately hard to find in movie theaters nowadays.
Naturalism is overrated.
The Purge series stumbled its way into becoming a franchise.