The most toothless interpretation of a shark film, more concerned with the animalistic parallels of the nothing archetypes - broken woman, disturbed man, real estate agent - who circle each other on a boat that's narratively adrift amidst lazy contrivance and recurring concussion rather than literally anything to do with the sadist premise. Already displaced by a hollow aesthetic of composite waters and CG sharks, further burdened by a continual need to return to shore for embarrassing character work and…

Not just a pact with Satan but a marriage, possession by the depersonalising act of pledging blood to the sire and consequentially purging blood from those once held dear. Amidst this coastal town the waves wash over the rocks like mist upon tombstones, a cemetery by day and a basement by night wherein Millard's bicolour gothic weds abyssal black shadows with the cherry red blood which drips off plastic fangs as the puncture the artifice with a real melancholy. Millard…

There's a suggestion early on in Rapado that a young man, who has just had his bike stolen, is about to have his entire life changed. After all, he used that bike to go everywhere. Except this isn't true. Life isn't going to change at all. Being able to go anywhere and everywhere means nothing when your presence is needless. Why loiter at the arcade when it's expensive and it burns your eyes? Why deal in currency when most of…

Embarrassing corporate Twitter energy all over this, breaking the fourth wall - often to explain the physical gags as they lack the didactic quality of The Message - with snarky self-critique that doesn't actually wish to change anything but merely point it out as a means of continuing to inhabit it from an ironic distance. Gerwig posits that progress is when women actualise themselves by recreating a consumerist endgame of expensive homes and lucrative jobs, and being that this…