Just a sequence of events. Feels juvenile, not in the manner of various penis jokes (which it is), but that’s it’s predominantly structured by what seems to be a “wouldn’t it be cool?” impulse for adding material.

It works as a showcase of craft. But as art to communicate something, I don’t think there’s anything there.

Cultural memory as disputed territory.

A missed opportunity of drawing solidarity between the working class and ghosts with what should’ve been “Just angry”.

The director was great at the Q&A, drew interesting parallels with ghost stories carrying an inherent queerness. Transgression, rather than horror.

Beyond everything else (which I didn’t enjoy), the movie was just pretty ugly. Incredibly sharp details. Garish colors. And weird digital overlays and transitions.

After my time at TIFF, I flew to Iceland, and while driving around the island, stayed in Hofn, Pálmason’s home town. Upon checking in to the hotel, I saw a photo book of his being promoted by the hotel, whose concierge was shocked that I was aware of who he was. When I mentioned his films, the concierge didn’t appear to know anything about them, or even their existence.

Anyway, it was nice seeing the landscape here in person. The story was a lovely time.

A bad time at the movies.

Two hours of miserablism for what? What new horrors about child physical and sexual abuse have I been made aware of?

Beyond content, the form was also lacking. The leaning on opaque, shallow depth-of-field shots, or off-kilter frames, seemed to mimic films of emotional gravity that the crew has seen, but not understood why those techniques, in their context, wielded power. Instead of arousing strong emotional sensations, I literally got motion sick and had to close my eyes.