Ma ★★★★½

i don't like that thing where such-and-such isn't REALLY a horror movie because let's face it, EVERY MOVIE IS A HORROR MOVIE FOR SOMEONE and maybe you didn't know you were in a horror movie maybe you thought you were in an 80's sex comedy and heck maybe you were until that moment when everything changed or that one fateful summer or night out on the town maybe once you realize you and everyone else are in a horror movie that began long ago but not so far away you can't stop thinking about that and it drives other more mundane everyday thoughts from your mind and you can't focus at work or at home and you think about all of those other people you used to know and what movies are they in are they in the movie you are or is theirs a totally different film and although i believe in my heart of hearts that every one who wants one upon reaching a certain age gets commissioned a vanity hagsploitation project to usher in senioritis which is way more fun if less practical than getting your AARP card because Denny's won't take the time to watch a hagsploitation film for elder identification even if you are in it even if it is conveniently on your phone I also remember when in the 1970's there were a bunch of shaggy-dog almost-character-pieces that kind of aimlessly sketched someone in their daily lives until they got up to something the film could responsibly claim to 'be about' when really it is about hanging out with the character who is usually but not always the title character and when the movie is over either you are like 'hey nothing happened! this is getting a bad review at redbox!' or you are like i wonder what this person did before this movie and what they might be doing after? how much of it is the same? how much of daily life is an extended unending horror that we just tolerate because what else are we realistically going to do? when we lose it will anyone notice? when we stop functioning right inside does anyone even know us enough to pay attention to what has gone wrong or are we a side character hurriedly sketched in the marginalia looking in at the main text which seems to have nothing to do with us but then why are we here in this manuscript? with them? an agent of fortune, a feature in a bad road, the moment when nothing was the same ever again but it never was

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