Okay, first: I’m not recommending you watch this movie. I don’t typically invest more than two button clicks into my tumblr but something about this movie MAKES ME WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.
But seriously, don’t watch it.
I guess this best takes the form of an open letter:
Thank you for perfectly representing how impotent male rationale and logic are against the storm of female grief. Charlotte Gainsbourg’s portrayal of an inconsolable, conflicted, masochistic woman is haunting, and let’s get real, she has the most gorgeous un-made up face in western society.
But I do have a complaint. For one glorious hour, you go about being beautiful and primal and devastating; such a stunning film that I don’t even mind I have to see the Green Goblin nude. Several times. Even when his backside flesh moved like Homer Simpson’s gut as he ran on the treadmill in The Springfield Files, and despite the fact that his character was a pretentious, overbearing misogynist, I was still totally into you.
I DIDN’T CARE ABOUT DAFOE’S DISGUSTING NUDITY AND CONTEMPTUOUS ATTITUDE YOU WERE THAT GOOD.
And how do you reward me? 1:10 in, you start being SAW VIII: Attack on the Genitals. Why would I possibly need to see the things you attempted to show me? I understand that marriage after the death of a child is difficult, maybe impossible, but I see no reason to ever, EVER mix wooden boards, wrenches, scissors, and blood with the bathing suit areas of your main characters. It’s just plain rude and served no purpose except to make me Wikipedia the end of the movie so I wouldn’t have to watch anymore, fast forward to the bits I thought *might* be interesting (they weren’t), and roll my eyes at the final scene.
I guess it was good while it lasted.
P.s. I love you
P.p.s. I HATE YOU
Ugh. I feel much better. Now I just need benzodiazepine and a hug.