This movie has so much whiteness in it, you will die of cold dark icy whiteness. Folk music is white. All the actors are white. There is no spirituality, soul, rhythm, funk or beat to any moment in this white movies starring white people living out white lives. This movie makes High Fidelity look like an episode of Soul Train. White.
That being said, there is genius to this turtleneck fiasco. There is no magic here. I don't mean "magic" like when you first saw a girl you knew in elementary school at the pool after 8th grade. I mean: There. Is. No. Magic. Not one single coincidence. Nothing works. Nobody bumps into anybody. A special song never comes on the radio. You know the right place at the right time? Not that. Never. Not once. Mr. Davis misses phone calls and has to pay for things and never gets ahead. The rug that really pulled the room together? Not here. There is no toe and it's past 3 o'clock. This movie is an absolute black whole of utter magic-less horror. Blackful blackness without a thimbleful of black magic. Just utterly long scenes of driving. Midwestern bleakatude times infinity. DOn't talk to me about the cat. He is not black. And he has no magic. It's not even the same gosh-for-saken cat. Abysmally devoid of the usual magical movie timing predictable magic amazing it-all-works-out magic. Black.
It's not easy to take a basic movie plot (and some fake instrument playing which, for me, from a very early age, has caused a whole-body breakout of festering hives) and take OUT all the timing and typical predictable movie mechanisms thereby leaving a sort of movie antimatter which might, once it comes out on DVD, have the capacity to bond with a magic filled movie like Raising Arizona and create an explosion that would level the entire universe. So be careful.
That being said, there is genius to this turtleneck fiasco. There is no magic here. I don't mean "magic" like when you first saw a girl you knew in elementary school at the pool after 8th grade. I mean: There. Is. No. Magic. Not one single coincidence. Nothing works. Nobody bumps into anybody. A special song never comes on the radio. You know the right place at the right time? Not that. Never. Not once. Mr. Davis misses phone calls and has to pay for things and never gets ahead. The rug that really pulled the room together? Not here. There is no toe and it's past 3 o'clock. This movie is an absolute black whole of utter magic-less horror. Blackful blackness without a thimbleful of black magic. Just utterly long scenes of driving. Midwestern bleakatude times infinity. DOn't talk to me about the cat. He is not black. And he has no magic. It's not even the same gosh-for-saken cat. Abysmally devoid of the usual magical movie timing predictable magic amazing it-all-works-out magic. Black.
It's not easy to take a basic movie plot (and some fake instrument playing which, for me, from a very early age, has caused a whole-body breakout of festering hives) and take OUT all the timing and typical predictable movie mechanisms thereby leaving a sort of movie antimatter which might, once it comes out on DVD, have the capacity to bond with a magic filled movie like Raising Arizona and create an explosion that would level the entire universe. So be careful.