Dumb. Bane rocks though.
Trenchant, cynical, and like, seemingly weirdly personal for Cronenberg? The film begins with a straightforward premise that devolves into one of the most surreal horror films I've ever seen. Something slips, as Max moves into, out of, and through increasingly horrific hallucinations. Max's...uh...stomach slot is obviously pretty emblematic, but an image that really sticks with me is Max outfitted with Convex's recording helmet: a man combined with machine, eagerly awaiting the onset of a sadistic fantasy.
It is good and kind and right to celebrate the work of human beings. What a joy, then, that Agnès Varda is a member of our species. I will often think of her and of the totemic dockworkers’ wives and of sweet Jeanine. With age can come pain and loss, but also a broad compassion and patience, and a great and limitless ??? that I don’t understand now, but hope to be lucky enough to one day exhibit.