Possessor ★★★

How fitting that a film so preoccupied with bodily dysphoria, one instilled through an industrial dystopia of transformative careerism, finds itself uncomfortably writhing in the husk of body horror brutality while trying to clutch at the spill of psychotension leaking through its fingers.

Behind the submersion into the viscera of corporate assassination and blood-red shadow play you can feel all the monetary pressure trying to mould Brandon into David, all the way down to the boast of UNCUT that now subtitles all the marketing. There still exists a fragile vein of existential fracture siphoned through Argento filters and abstract liquid dissolutions, yet the swaying handheld and shallow focus of uncertainty feels the pressure to immediately sharpen up for bouts of unsparing mutilation.

There's definitely an unsparing nihilism in how all that unknown only finds a definitive answer in the moment where the knife hits the final reaches of the throat. But beyond it all exists a small moment where two pools of blood converge in a reconciliation between subconscious destruction and the burden of humanity, and it's one that hits way harder than all the frame-focused ultra-gore that splattered upon this vision along the way. Still, pretty rad, and proof that it's actually possible to do A24-style horror without pandering to the illusion of good taste.

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