The fact that I like this kind of Malick-y ecstatic beauty when done well (early Malick, some Lynn Ramsay, Carlos Reygadas, maybe some Lucretia Martel) makes me so wary when it's abused, as it is here. Golden hour fragility and hands dancing in the light tainted by the language of Levi commercials, complemented with wall to wall overbearing strings. None of the actors seemed on the same page with the dialogue, where every line has to be loaded with the…

A legendary work in black indie cinema—for the few who have even heard of it. It famously failed to find distribution after winning a jury prize at Sundance, even though Warner Bros bought the remake rights for $250,000. Director Wendell Harris claims that though it was initially shown on television regularly, further broadcasts were actively suppressed after 1994. Apparently it was too confrontational for any major studio or network to touch.

It's a major loss, because this film is awesome.…

Treats gleeful nonsense as if it's the most important thing in the world—which it probably is. These are the kind of interactions people have with each other all the time that almost never work their way onto the screen, but this movie is overflowing with spontaneous energy and laughter. Love the clog dancing, the handheld camera showing signs to the pathetic casino, or when all the girls burst out laughing while shouting Orouette at Gilbert.

This movie would be great…