It's time for a young African-American to meet with his white girlfriend's parents for a weekend in their secluded estate in the woods, but before long, the friendly and polite ambience will give way to a nightmare.
A veteran tracker with the Fish and Wildlife Service helps to investigate the murder of a young Native American woman, and uses the case as a means of seeking redemption for an earlier act of irresponsibility which ended in tragedy.
Amidst a wild flat meadow encircled by an Edenic lush forest, a couple has cocooned itself in a secluded grand mansion that was not so long ago burned to the ground, devotedly restored by the supportive wife. Within this safe environment, the once famous middle-aged poet husband is desirous of creating his magnum opus, however, he seems unable to break out of the persistent creative rut that haunts him. And then, unexpectedly, a knock at the door and the sudden arrival of a cryptic late-night visitor and his intrusive wife will stimulate the writer's stagnant imagination, and much to the perplexed wife's surprise, the more chaos he lets in their haven, the better for his punctured male ego. In the end, will this incremental mess blemish irreparably the couple's inviolable sanctuary? Written by
The music in the first half of the end credits is followed by a long period with only quiet ambient noise. The near-silence is broken when Javier Bardem's character's calligraphy is inscribed in white ink next to (and sometimes over) the remaining credits. See more »
As I say in the title of my review, it is neither artful nor profound to jam every possible reference and metaphor into your movie. It's lazy. It means you have no clear direction and/or are trying to appear meaningful while being unable to resist inserting your own 'struggle' into the 'high concept'... as though you are equating yourself with the existential conflicts of gods and nature... I should think this is the penultimate epitome of pretentiousness and narcissism.
Yes, I got ALL the possible meanings of everything thrust into this amalgamation of horror and pseudo-philosophy tropes. And that was the problem... they were ALL THERE. There was no one idea prevailing; it was, as other reviewers noted, throwing all the poo against the wall and seeing what stuck... and the result was merely akin to a port-a-potty explosion.
The only reason I've given it a 2 was that there were so many abysmal movies this year that this one does rise a little higher by comparison... but only barely.
This is a movie for all the art-house crowd who believe their own self-delusions of brilliance and the Hollywood elite who pat themselves on the back ceaselessly.
I would compare it to the absurdly high praise for "Boyhood".
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