Set aside the absurdity and ridiculous portrayal of human characters, I am still quite disappointed on how the wrestles were tad underwhelming. Regardless if there is one winner on this battle of iconic monsters - its their fans for they are treated with match-up made to glorify the pandemic-wretched statue of blockbusters.

I gotta give credit first to Fennell's direction - the ensemble (led by Mulligan) were all, eerily, spotless. Albeit whatever complications it has in the ending, the experience is more or less reading a Gone Girl-eating, rod-breaking, anti-misogynist book: prologued, chaptered, sensual, imaginative, relatable, toxic, shocking, and disturbingly elating.

Clearly one of Anderson’s early films, with scanty, less quirky production designs to lay he initially adjusted his style with the way he shoots and his actors react to it. These work perfectly in such a heartwarming delivery, up til now is most sincere yet tbh.

In this small medium, such is used to show hefty visuals and allegories of what a utopia of unconditional love would look like and would they feel and Sandoval’s words were tactile enough to pierce her love letter through our senses.