I grow weary of the Sean Baker dissonance, of his foisting endless signifiers of the real upon superficial, condescending narratives. I enjoyed the combined thirty minutes of the bookends, but the middle is as shrill and grating as anything in Triangle of Sadness (peep the obligatory housecleaning staff scene; vomit too) and lacking in any sort of tension or anxiety, not validating its length in any way: NYC tow truck driver screaming “I’ve only been on the job two weeks” is especially…

Much more singular than any sort of “we used to have one of these a month” bullshit would lead you to believe. All three leads are beautiful, hot; but it’s a film of repression and redirection, and so, genuine intimacy, genuinely reciprocated sexiness would be asking too much—remember that we’re chasing those 15 seconds. Sex is implied, but the onscreen intimacy is frequently thrown askew, whether by college couple squabbling or the Applebee’s dumpster. It’s the double knot of a…