After one episode that just about pushed enough past the realm of ‘okay’ that I actually struggled to write about it, Love, Death & Robots returns back to its core content. Execrable garbage.
This joint has a score ripped from a 2007 era video game and an a look to match. Afghanistan. I’m sure there’s plenty of original material left to be dredged up from the war there, but Shape-Shifters, the first of this series to care to contextualise its action within a specific culture, does not. It tells a thin story about werewolves and revenge. I’d honestly reckon your average 2007 video game would be a step up.
Sorry that this one’s coming up late, watching this short film made me reconsider if going through all of these would even be worth it. I’m tired, I’ve really got other pressing things to do, and unless something is out and out reprehensible I don’t really like bringing negativity to the page. I prefer to be excited about things I love. This short film was written and directed by Alberto Mielgo.
You know how sometimes you’re watching a film and you’re like; ‘Wow. They really thought they could do this scene and nobody would notice?’
Bob Zemeckis is too straight to make a movie about a homophobic hate crime.
When I was a kid my dad’s favourite album was Queen: Greatest Hits. In our living room we had a fancy hi-fi which could hold 3 CDs in it at once. Well, two, considering the top spot was reserved for that record. My older brother had cassettes of pop music which he played on a small tinny sounding thing in his bedroom. In family spaces it was basically either Queen, or church music. I listened to a lot of Queen — but only their greatest hits.
You know, it feels like a pretty rum time to put this flick out. It comes hard to buy the grim premonitions that the most valuable cargo that the cartels are smuggling across the border is refugees. With what how it doesn’t really square with what’s happening in America right now. Describing this film’s opening scenes is perhaps the most instructive way to proceed right now.
When the title comes up at the end of My Friend Dahmer saying that the man would go on to murder 17 people over the course of the next 20 years it feels like a punchline. The film ain’t been particularly cagey about the young leads predilections. We see him in his the shed where as a child he would dissolve roadkill in acid to study their decomposition and preserve their bones, we see his neglectful and abusive parents dumping on him at home, the way he drinks to cope with the troubles in his life, the way his repressed and mismanaged anger chooses to express itself.
There’s something awful fucky about the people who would make a decision to make an uptempo comic drama caper flick about domestic abuse. I ain’t sure if these people even realised the film they were making, but when you’re constructing a montage of a husband beating his wife set some cliché dad-rock needledrop it’s not like you’re missing the forest for the trees. It’s right there in front of you.