Two for two. The Philippou brothers feel so untouchable right now.

Another crooked jewel on the crown of my favourite ozploitation microgenre "Uh oh! You live here now!"
If I had a dollar every time I saw a movie where some unfortunate sod travels to the arse end of Australia only to find himself unceremoniously stripped of all material posessions and any way back to civilisation, leaving him with no choice but to dive headfirst into a local culture that is as antagonistic to outsiders as it is wildly self destructive.…
Saying “it is written” an awful lot in a movie that clearly barely was.
A shaky victory lap that doesn’t scrape the series best, but BOY howdy if this isn’t another RICH text for observers of cinema’s self appointed messiah.
Cruise and Atwell’s whole thing, huh. Fascinating. We come to this place for magic.
Visceral and astoundingly gripping for how little the audience is given to hold onto, but the fist-pumping hormone-charged intro suggests a much more interesting and purposeful film hiding in the margins of Garland and Mendoza’s military exercise.
Found myself wanting more of the Iraqi family’s perspective instead of the behind the scenes coda we got, awkwardly letting the air out of the balloon both tonally and ideologically.
Takes a moment to acclimatise to its overwhelming digital maximalism immediately after devouring the fuzzy wuzzy analog original. But this is a non-stop parade of insane swings both visually and story-wise. Kind of a necessity for a film following up not one but two genre defining landmarks, both The Major and Batou’s first outing, and its totemic love letter from Hollywood The Matrix.
Filled with glimpses of cyclical influence, scratching the back that scratched theirs first. Exactly the kind of sequel that I wanted to believe Matrix 4 was, though indulgent, deepens and complicates the original rather than just muddying the waters.