two outsiders caught in each other's transit, clinging to the illusion that things can go on like this, that they can match the mold that's been expected of them, and that for a short afternoon, just as long as it's only them, maybe a cup of tea can sustain weeks and months of misery -- it doesn't, it can't, they loosen one another's centers and the truth leaks out to the whole world, and when looking back on this with…

the trendiness of epic filmmaking in the 1950s and 60s felt like hollywood trying to rejuvenate the simple grandeur of the 1920s, where maverick directors and producers would regularly take on ambitious stories just to race ahead of the aesthetic aspirations inherent to the new medium, except now after world war 2 it is more about competing with television for the audience's attention instead of the naive promethean urge exhibited by von stroheim, de mille, etc.

i kept thinking about…

so alienated from the experience of lived trans identity that it gets many basic facts wrong, stuff that any trans person could tell you about (for one thing, emilia pérez wouldn't 'smell like a man' if she was on HRT, as hormones have a massive effect on body odor). but even disregarding that, this is yet another crash-esque panorama of trying to tackle every societal problem and then acting as if the mere effort of that attempt, rather than the…

god help us all.

these movies hope that if they crack enough semi-homophobic jokes at their own expense, if they give the manchildren enough corporate cameos, that somehow it wouldn't be exceedingly obvious that the only thing they are actually serious about is telling the lie that any of this stuff means something to begin with -- hey, look, it's the thing you , but not really, but sort of, but it's a reference, but it's a gag, but it's…