Crash ★★★★★

the loneliest movie about sex. the shots of the empty streets of Toronto at night, bereft of people, cars or any signs of life outside of its protagonists filled me with melancholy, as two men who've brutalised and pleasured each other physically and sexually drift apart as soon as the orgasm ends. Cronenberg's obsession with bodies has never been more realised or specific, with explicit detail of multiple different sexual encounters, analysis of the metal rods surging out of the flesh of car crash victims and vagina-shaped scars that its lead can attempt to fuck, but his skill at capturing humans in an innate state of dissatisfaction really lingers here. these people are willing to mutiliate themselves for any morsel of escalation, a fragment of pleasure that takes them away from their reality. but the high can't last forever. we're all alone in the end.

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