Blood.
A movie so measured and slow and yet utterly unpredictably violent. Punctuated by a score so abrupt and strange and sinister. Filmed, almost entirely, in shit-nothing scrubland and bleak-ass desert. Devoid of females. Devoid of Brotherly Love. Unceasing in its foward momentum, its premonitory hints at total pointless tragedy....
But so stylized, yes.
Grandiose, yes....
A love-labor so absent of love, of cinematic meaning and morals...
and that final cheap uplifting message so prominent in our modern American cinema....
That oft-told lie that it is, indeed, all going to be alright.
Verily, it lacked the proverb... Forgot the message.
A beautifully presented possibly-Korean dish of tender puppy meat, ultra spicy with a side of broken glass....
and no fucking fortune cookie to play it straight.
No wonder the critics are confused.
But then again, fuck the critics.
