Watched outdoors at Ciné-Parc Dante in Little Italy, my stomping ground. I was biking by on my way home from the Stade Saputo—where I saw my ídolo Eden Hazard train with the visiting Los Blancos—and thought I’d stop for a film under the thunderclouds. Thunder grumbled, the movie was shite, I had a wonderful time.
Hereditary was a ticking glowering study in nightmare logic, this time around Aster crafts an étude d’carnivalesque. Whereas the former worked in the tradition of shadow, the latter brandishes its audience in the stark raving noonday sun. Perhaps the funniest movie I’ve seen this year. Though the internal machine didn’t quite purr as it did in H, nonetheless Aster is proving himself to be daring, capable, and necessary.