Didactic in a way that feels like it’s aiming for accessibility but stylistically adventurous enough that it’d blow my impressionable, oughta-be-radicalized coworkers’ heads clean off.
Didactic in a way that feels like it’s aiming for accessibility but stylistically adventurous enough that it’d blow my impressionable, oughta-be-radicalized coworkers’ heads clean off.
If I wanted to observe a morose, grotesque slug creature that insists it isn’t its father, I’d look in a mirror.
At one point, Johnson’s character makes a covert attempt to reconnect with someone she shouldn’t see. She elects to undertake this mission in a huge trench coat and inconspicuous baseball cap. Johnson could not have done *more* to draw attention to herself, standing outside this person’s apartment in the middle of the day, blasting a cig, twitching, shifting her weight nervously like a sprinter standing beside their starting block. This is not played for laughs. Nor is it played for laughs…
How hard are the drinks they serve during broadway intermissions