The Lone Ranger

The Lone Ranger ★★★★

the water is still. death reigns in the frontier; such a calmness that contains within it individual pieces of assessed narrative worth. the genre a constant geographical battle. we follow them into the water, and, perhaps, back out again—for it is the bringer of life and the means of the return of the dead, just as much as earth creates the necessary conditions for societies of progress in constitutionally barren personal decay. as the ending is keen to remind us, the death of one industrialist cares not for the upheld social order of controlling capital. striking out alone in a pageantry of identity, fixed in racialized co-investment only to be upheld as a symbol of all that the modern state reveres against emotionally discharged predetermined locationality—the law of man turned against man, silver capital the price of familial blood. feminine ordinance is explosive, female will is conducive. it's the pageantry that the film leans into and enjoys before trying to turn it around, the biggest problem is that i enjoy it too much. individual state violence, specifically a-religious as undefined by such motivated settler expansionism but masculinities rest on more than social authorities. the film opens on the san francisco bay, the golden gate bridge under construction. the water is still.

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