Starting a short film is always bittersweet; while excited about the contents, one also anticipates that it will be over too soon.
In this case, I was more surprised than usual when the credits started rolling prematurely. There's about 5 minutes worth of content stretched over a 25 minute running time, and when it ended, I couldn't believe that 25 minutes had passed without any substance. The heavy-handed statement that "SUBURBIA IS A LIE AND YOU SHOULD FEEL BAD" is presented most elegantly in the opening sequence, but then it is repeated a few more times as a series of clumsy clichés, and then the film ends. There's an uncomfortably silent and distant dinner scene, there's a bit of overheard child abuse that appears to be drawn directly from the filmmaker's extrapolation of the "don't let anyone touch your private parts" snippets from Sonic the Hedgehog cartoons, and the big punchline is, quite literally, an episode of cutting oneself for attention.
It's all poignant, mind you. I did find the cutting-oneself-for- attention to hit close to home, and I will acknowledge that the film accurately recreates many snippets of dysphoric nightmares I've had over the years. The value of the film, if any, is in the (inconsistent) emotional resonance.
But it's too abrupt when the credits start rolling. wat? Was that it? Paradoxically, I did, indeed, find that it was over too soon. I had expected a 25 minute runtime to be long enough for a hint of development. Instead, the statement made in the first 30 seconds was all the film had to say.
For the type of film it is, it seems shallow to discuss the gore factor, but I am a horror fan, and most of you have been drawn to this film after hearing that it is exceptionally disturbing. Regarding the gore factor: there is next to none. If any gore happened on screen, I've already forgotten it. The camera cuts back and forth to show the aftermath of the injuries, but it won't have much impact on the contemporary horror fan.
I won't discourage you from watching it, because it really is over so quickly that you don't feel like you've wasted much time.
In this case, I was more surprised than usual when the credits started rolling prematurely. There's about 5 minutes worth of content stretched over a 25 minute running time, and when it ended, I couldn't believe that 25 minutes had passed without any substance. The heavy-handed statement that "SUBURBIA IS A LIE AND YOU SHOULD FEEL BAD" is presented most elegantly in the opening sequence, but then it is repeated a few more times as a series of clumsy clichés, and then the film ends. There's an uncomfortably silent and distant dinner scene, there's a bit of overheard child abuse that appears to be drawn directly from the filmmaker's extrapolation of the "don't let anyone touch your private parts" snippets from Sonic the Hedgehog cartoons, and the big punchline is, quite literally, an episode of cutting oneself for attention.
It's all poignant, mind you. I did find the cutting-oneself-for- attention to hit close to home, and I will acknowledge that the film accurately recreates many snippets of dysphoric nightmares I've had over the years. The value of the film, if any, is in the (inconsistent) emotional resonance.
But it's too abrupt when the credits start rolling. wat? Was that it? Paradoxically, I did, indeed, find that it was over too soon. I had expected a 25 minute runtime to be long enough for a hint of development. Instead, the statement made in the first 30 seconds was all the film had to say.
For the type of film it is, it seems shallow to discuss the gore factor, but I am a horror fan, and most of you have been drawn to this film after hearing that it is exceptionally disturbing. Regarding the gore factor: there is next to none. If any gore happened on screen, I've already forgotten it. The camera cuts back and forth to show the aftermath of the injuries, but it won't have much impact on the contemporary horror fan.
I won't discourage you from watching it, because it really is over so quickly that you don't feel like you've wasted much time.