My brainwaves are pretty high until the leads split up, and while I love them splitting up and coming back together, the pacing and structure of it all makes me flatline. Then they go into the arena and my brainwaves swell with the music and ever go any lower than 110% until credits roll.
The worst, but also the best since 2002.
What a kind, gentle, lovely film. Sad, hopeful, warm, and genuine in all the ways that David Lynch has always had lingering under his tendencies that people depict as “weird,” or otherwise.
I loved it.
Maybe not as funny as you’d hope from the zaniness of the premise and structure promise, but Keke Palmer is a generational talent and SZA mostly holds her own against her as an actress.
Maybe the best use of Chekov’s Gun I’ve seen in a minute.
