took me a while to finally log this, but the more i sit w it, the more i disliked it.
this movie is so thin - of interest for its time period outside of visual aesthetics by making the politics background noise on TV, of making Bob Dylan more than a douchey caricature, of a real plot or conflict until the last 20 minutes. the mild politics especially - like, i understand Dylan was more apathetic to politics later in…
ate it right the fuck up. i love how much detail was put into the actual tennis aspect of the film - Art vs. Patrick in technique, playing style, even down to the brand sponsors, clothing and tennis rackets. really adds even more to the argument that tennis is a relationship, such an intimate and personal game that differs from team sports in that it’s only you to blame, and from other individual sports in that there’s a direct opponent…
it’s so confusing sometimes to be a girl 🥰💚
no but seriously, i wish people would really hammer home how fucking funny this is, especially the last act. yes, the body horror is absolutely perfect but i think it’s the way that it masterfully jumps between tones and campiness that really sold me. it never gets too serious for its own good, which is what makes it a joy to stomach. also such a strong screenplay with so little dependence on dialogue - it’s no wonder it’s sweeping up awards.
of course i loved it. enough said.
