Once again, Lucile Hadžihalilović hits the ground dreaming with ambivalent caretakers and an almost overwhelming number of signifiers. Earwig is, for all its stillness, always in flux, caught between a fairy tale and a horror film, and routinely soaked in otherworldly postwar malaise. Every frame is a stunning collage of greens, ambers, and reds—and don't even get me started on the exterior shots, which make incredible use of texture and pattern. You can almost smell the rain, run your fingers over the wet leaves and mulch.
Earwig understands bodies as alien vessels, fleshy and obstinate. We open with a lengthy shot of Albert—more specifically, Albert's ear—and follow his daily routine as he cares for a young girl whose teeth are…