jocey’s review published on Letterboxd:
a movie that’s meant to be recalled vaguely, like a dream, like a love, “i think there was a dance sequence. we were in my high school gym, and you were there, but you weren’t really you, but i knew it was you.”
frowned the whole way through, then unraveled it with my hands afterwards, feeling at peace with it. became frustrated that i had to unravel it in my hands, and then, remembering art, felt silly for being frustrated. now i’m here recalling it, remembering images and characters feeling shame, forgetting the times it frustrated me, smoothing the edges and recapturing the dread. this movie is the unwanted memory etched in our brains doomed to replay in fragments over and over and over. it’s the heightened recurring nightmare of a quest for the stupidly elusive intimacy we crave and all believe aren’t built to deserve, that surely we’re too fucked up to ever get. the lines we draw in our brains are garish and unfair. i like how kaufman blurs the line between the inside and outside of the thought bubbles of our characters, never even defines a line at all. it’s really never as we recall it, when we recall it. it’s never really how it’s gonna be.
i think it’s more brilliant with distance. what seemed frustrating now seems elegant and purposeful. would be happy to watch again. excited to read the book.