the culture is dying and it's never been so alive

the cinematic equivalent of dry heat and no breeze, every inch of film caked in sweat and dust and blood. the first part of this is intensely disquieting while being disarming enough to draw you closer to the central characters before it drops you into the chaos and leaves you to thrash around in it. the final sequence is a work of art in the truest sense: pure delirium under the rising sun. a true horror staple which changed the heart of the genre forever.

no thoughts just phoebe bridgers snatching a cigarette out of lucy dacus' mouth

is it just me or is the air charged with the distant call of the night bird