A Colt 45 of a film, silver bullet of dark erotica, fertile pathology, a sunlit & soiled mystical union of shadows & light… Beauty and beast in one.
This is no comedy – not that it isn’t darkly funny, in a Bretonian ‘gallows with lighting rod’ kind of way, depicting humour not as a relief, but at the centre of the disease, a punctured ulcer reeking of that which it could not any longer contain.
The remedy to all life’s ills lies in Wes Anderson films. I finally found it in the character of the Oracle dog, and you will find yours too. Keep watching.
There is no horror quite like the murderous rage of someone you once loved.