Theatre maker. Host of INK & PAINT podcast.
Film critic for SWITCH.
Art is subjective and so are my opinions.
Bloody delightful, the better of Anderson’s adaptations of Dahl’s work. The theatrical artifice is gorgeous, the director is swift and sharp, the Russian doll structure flows beautifully and we love a cast that is 100% in on the thing. Cumberbatch is better in these 38 mins than he’s been in years. All four of these actors had better be in all these Anderson-Dahl Netflix shorts.
A monolithic act of cinematic mythology, gothic and horrifying, taking a foundation myth of colonised Australia and using it to crack open the homoerotic performativity of Australian masculinity. I was stunned and speechless and fucking adored it.
Truth be told, it’s about as perfectly constructed a film for me specifically to love as ever there was one, but it’s so bold and so unrelenting and continuously questions what we think of as being a man through our fucked up Australian concept of what that idea means.
I mean… what was the point? Obviously it makes its point very clear to the point of beating you over the head with it like a blunt instrument, but what is McKay ultimately saying? That we’re inherently fucked as a species? It’s very hard to know what he wants you to walk away with.
It’s clear he thinks he’s Armando Ianucchi.
It’s clear he thinks this is Dr Strangelove-level satire.
What is more the pity is…