Finally, my Lanthimos gap caught up with me.

It trapped me in a slow, surreal nightmare soaked in stiff dialog, clinical lighting and a camera that drifts like an intruder. Calculated and methodical, it plants its creeping sense of inevitability, moving toward a dawning fate.

It's a movie like a faint pain you can't quite explain. It sits among his other films that I hold dear.

(Except for The Favorite, which is just plain obnoxious.)

This hit me like a brick to the face. I loved how chaotic and unapologetically loud this dark and funny portrait of rebellion, culture and the absurdities of modern Belfast was. Full of sharp dialogue, wild energy and still some gentle moments to contemplate.

A punk anthem. A ride.

Unhinged slapstick chaos that chews through sanity. Left me with a dam of laughs. Zero furs given.

So damn vibrant.

Parasitic and parasocial, Red Rooms is a bleak and gnarly descent into voyeuristic obsession. Truly unnerving, capturing the unknowability of evil. 

Chaotic, intractable, and incapable of looking away. Feeling unwell.

Anatomy of a …?

Midlife crisis' stab to feel.

It really likes to linger in discomfort. A slow burn creeping descent into madness. Out of reach. Found appreciation in the blunt.

Exploring adolescence, heartfelt. The awkwardness and poignancy of growing up in the early days of social media. A coming-of-age story that left me feeling nostalgic.

Its engaging performances carry the uneasy charm of this melodrama of grays. An exploration of manipulation and artifice that doesn't always sink its teeth into its themes, remaining oddly restrained.

Intimate, tender, poignant.

Mostly frustrating.
Some might say I didn't get it.
I am not sure there was a lot to get.

Bombastically grand, for better and worse.