Blonde

Blonde ★½

Andrew Dominik's BLONDE is such a narrow interrogation of a person, in this case, Marilyn Monroe, that its interplay of reality and fiction doesn't matter much because it gives very little to chew that isn't one-note, repetitive pseudo-psychology wrapped in a slick aesthetic.

Ana de Armas is game but giving her this script and guiding her to this performance, amounts to directorial malpractice by Dominik. We get a few brief moments where de Armas appears aware of the difficult balance she needs to strike. But the film guides her to nowhere special.

There are a few laughably bad creative choices here. And the framing of her as a woman who repetitively says "daddy" is so off-putting (and not in a way that is intentionally proactive). I'm not even that enamored with the chopped-and-screwed visual language of the film.

It's all a mess of distorted noise and the only clear signal emitted outward to us is this woman was perpetually degraded not just because of leering unscrupulous men but that her daddy issues made her susceptible to the point of sanding down her own personhood to nothingness.

The only element of the film that really impressed me was Nick Cave and Warren Ellis' mordant, otherworldly score. In general, however, BLONDE is a fatalistic, festering, and incurious slog. I'd rather gouge out my eyes with an ice pick soaked in acid than watch it again.

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