“The Cubans must win, or we will lose all,
even hope.” —Jean-Paul Sartre
Why did no one tell me this was so seminal??
A classic B-movie premise elevated by the ubiquity of 70s paranoia—a movie whose genius lies in furtive glances, distant screams, and the all-pervasive, all-too-familiar feeling of surveillance so symptomatic of our diseased concrete jungles, where the most horrifying of secrets often hide in broad daylight, behind the most quotidian of human affairs, and which we big-city folk are so bombarded by yet accustomed to, conditioned by our complicity to dismiss, ignore, and move on…
We have all already been body snatched.
I get it, these guys weren’t monsters they were people like you and me who did messed up shit that shouldn’t be glorified. But this isn’t humanization. This feels like a sensationalist exposé made by someone with a vendetta against Norwegian Black Metal. Add to that American actors with American accents playing Norwegian people (Why? Is this Death of Stalin?), a bland love interest, a shamelessly Hollywood-ized sex scene (somehow in the same movie as a brutal suicide), a score that…
Swipe left on Wong Kar Wai, Akira Kurosawa, and Edward Yang. Swipe right on Crazy Rich Asians—the epitome of Asian cinema.
My real review: Completely tone-deaf and egregious. This is in no way a celebration of Asian identity/culture/heritage as much as it is a celebration of wealth/power/status—the fact that this movie has been heralded as some kind of landmark racial achievement for Hollywood when it completely ignores the existence of working-class Asians worldwide and very openly panics and makes a joke out…