“I’m alone. I’m always alone.”

a singular piece of a art, all within its own cinematic milieu. dawna lee heising’s commitment to the abrasion of female histrionics is unparalleled and drenched in the uncanny. endlessly on the unnamed highway, dawna rides and rides and rides, picking up strangers, looking for solace in the unknown. frame rates sputter, freeze framed images transition into scenes that are elongated by a curation of country twang, piano ballads, and a haunting reggae song that…

catherine’s black vinyl gown struck me into a haze; once i saw margot adorning something so outer felt, so modern and downright cruel, i knew it would all click. brontë’s impossible, evergreen text is shrouded in candy coated puss oozing all over the screen. it’s easy to to pass off as gauche, but i found this just as i needed it to be: perverted. the kind of cinema i yearn for my entire adulthood, and then some. the moors aren’t…