Very few films create their message by experiencing the film. The Immaculate Room is the one of those rare films. The slovenly pace. The absence of color, smell, variation. Asexuality. Then...
The film drones, your senses dull, and import of the film hits hard, like a tasteless bite of sand. Like a 2 second orgasm. Like a raw egg white. Life can be that way. Then...
Green lines. Nude strangers. Ecstatic pace. Smelly armpits. Hitting a white, polished marble wall with your head. Red blood. And...
Shawn dies. She leaves. You lose, or do you? Life goes on. Build that kitchen. Take that walk to the car. Learn, feel, be. Life goes on.
Bosworth, Hirsch, and Dewil created a world impossible to blandishly ignore. I was there. No ecstasy was needed. I was there. No bloody head occurred. I was there. No swimming pool water in my little brother's lungs. I was there. Thank you for that rare film experience, more than eyes, more than brain, more than intellect. Meta indeed.
The film drones, your senses dull, and import of the film hits hard, like a tasteless bite of sand. Like a 2 second orgasm. Like a raw egg white. Life can be that way. Then...
Green lines. Nude strangers. Ecstatic pace. Smelly armpits. Hitting a white, polished marble wall with your head. Red blood. And...
Shawn dies. She leaves. You lose, or do you? Life goes on. Build that kitchen. Take that walk to the car. Learn, feel, be. Life goes on.
Bosworth, Hirsch, and Dewil created a world impossible to blandishly ignore. I was there. No ecstasy was needed. I was there. No bloody head occurred. I was there. No swimming pool water in my little brother's lungs. I was there. Thank you for that rare film experience, more than eyes, more than brain, more than intellect. Meta indeed.