i know nothing, i'm just sitting here looking at pretty colours
a childhood memory i don’t have. my father watches my fingers hesitate before the next phrase of bach’s prelude in c major. england is grey. i listen in awe to baroque voices talking over each other from inside his guitar. there is no alternative. we sit in the grass and look at the clouds. this is the end.
I’ve never liked puns. But after seeing this I can safely say I’d prefer to never hear one again.
This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
in beautifully wistful shots of the interior design of our lonely ex-lovers' palace, set against screen captures of dating apps and bleak imessage conversations, the film plays back for you your disgusting patheticism, narcissism and loneliness; it displays to you the slow tragedy that is your existence, our shared miserable existence: "his and hers", epitomised in dirty dishes segregated by sink.
for him, life is falling asleep sat on the toilet after shaving off half of your shoulder-length hair, accidentally…
god awful. while i've seen almost everything there is to be said about this complete airball of a film, there hasn’t been any mention of those strange music video style zoom-in jump cuts that occur at like two random points of total non-significance within the garbled plot and somehow manage not to be anywhere near its most alienating and absurd parts. i'll forever love carey tho
