Morris Yang

Morris Yang


Without my cookies, I’m just a monster.

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Pinned reviews

  • The Father

    The Father


    “Zeller’s distressing first feature underpins its narrative with a slippery ontology, taken not as grandstanding metaphysical trademark but as crucial device to interpreting, as closely as possible, the workings of Anthony’s mind.”

    Full review at In Review Online.

  • I'm Thinking of Ending Things

    I'm Thinking of Ending Things


    There’s nothing quite like this one. Kaufman at his most unrestrained, unconscious, unsettling: a Lynchian tapestry of all the unease that comes with existing, alone or with another — or both at once. The recesses go deeper, time seems to distillate into a synchronic eternal, compartments unfold and box themselves into storage spaces in the mental warehouses and psychological manifolds of an always-already societal symbiosis: of relationships, interactions, hierarchies, memories, co-habitating spaces and minutes. I’m Thinking of Ending Things synthesises…

Recent reviews

  • Come Here

    Come Here


  • Ploy



    An unintended but illuminating double entendre prefigures the sociological strata that Prapat Jiwarangsan interrogates in his docu-film: its title, Ploy, contains significations both literal (the name of its ‘main’ character, a Thai sex worker) and symbolic (in its semantic definition: a “cunning plan, designed to turn a situation to one’s own advantage”). Naturally, the former mostly evades our attention altogether — given that the name ‘Ploy’ has little cultural import, but also because we, the film’s intended audience, come from…

Popular reviews

  • Two/One



    The last act, which literalises the film's underlying conceit, also unravels its philosophical and existential heft; logical and narrative absurdity abounds. Yet on the whole, Cabral's debut is remarkably attuned to the sensibilities of the modern world, portraying a globalised and — dare I say — universal consciousness within each and every one of us, as we contend with our place in this vast and alienating society. There are some impressive shots and sequences in this one.

  • Pieces of a Woman

    Pieces of a Woman


    The first thirty minutes show real promise — visceral, corporeal filmmaking that paves the way for an inevitably bitter and heartbreaking fallout. Unfortunately, Mundruczó’s tonal deafness and utter indulgence in the worst of melodramatic cinema turns the rest of Pieces of a Woman into trite, overwrought histrionics. There’s an element of Screenwriting 101 in it, except it feels inserted by a very studious AI.