I’ve seen this film so many times. Like, probably dozens of times within the past seven years, having first seen it when I was fourteen years old, and always watching on a laptop.
But tonight i went to see it by myself at an old theatre with deep red velvet walls and plastic green, red, and white lights. Chandeliers twinkling. Trains pass by behind the building all through the movie and you feel the floor shake beneath you.
It has…
tragically beautiful.
A trip. The rawest and realest film I have ever seen.
Arielle Holme’s book, Mad Love in New York City, to which this film was adapted, is finally in print. Her story is remarkable.
forever grateful for this film introducing me to Isao Tomita, James Dashow’s oedipus orca, and Dunkelheit.
deterioration
abandonment
emptiness
this is such a painful watch every damned time.
Aronofsky’s best in my opinion.
