Anima ★★★★½

The future rapture, a perpetual convention. A contemporary malaise, life's monotony, there is no time for vehemence, opinion or mere emotion.

Arrested only by three condemning sentiments: trend, ubiquity and conformity. We are all benign ornaments embellishing the abstractions of superior minds, diminutive, small and diminished. Subdued to habit, dictated by compliancy. Pulsations of futility, a jarring flatlined barren of empathy, subconscious gestures of didactic knowing.

Tenuous is the touch, intrinsic and tangible, hand on hand, skin on skin. A sobered touch finally begins warms.

A sublime synthesis of vision from Anderson and Yorke, understated cinematography from Khondji as always.

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