film review
Midsommar
Arguably the most feminine horror ever committed to film, and scarcely a drop of blood until the closing movement. One question, distended across two and a half hours: what if, when you finally screamed, an entire room of women screamed alongside you rather than counselling composure? Her boyfriend receives her grief as an inconvenience to be scheduled around. A commune of strangers elects to hold it.
Be scrupulously honest about who actually permits you to fall apart; it is a low bar, and a remarkable number of people fail to clear it. Sometimes ‘good for her’ means nothing grander than ‘finally witnessed.’
this is one entry from a wandering list of films, books, shows and albums, kept by someone trying to live a slightly more deliberate life.
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