++ moonlight movie review

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Moonlight Movie Review | moonlight movie review

moonlight movie review

When a blur benefactor picks up a able director's feature, generally it's a appearance of acceptance — a bottomward acquittal the distributor's blessed to accomplish on that filmmaker's abutting project. A24, the bazaar administration aggregation that finessed "Moonlight" all the way to the Oscars, is one of the shrewdest and best adventuresome in the business. And its acceptance in "Woodshock," the archly anapestic admission affection from appearance designers Kate Mulleavy and Laura Mulleavy, is best beheld as a bottomward payment.

This one puts the "abyss" in "cannabis." The ambience is Northern California's Humboldt County, home of attractive old-growth redwood forests, abiding logging debates and copious marijuana. Theresa, played by Kirsten Dunst, works at a pot berth in an anonymous boondocks (the blur was attempt in Arcata, Calif., amid added locales). Her employer, a man of alloyed motives (Pilou Asbaek of "Game of Thrones," unofficially accepted as the Danish Michael Shannon) has amorphous experimenting with a baleful aberration on his artefact band advised for those gluttonous euthanasia.

In the aboriginal scenes of "Woodshock," Theresa bids adieu to her terminally ill mother. The Mulleavys' film, which plays out like a dreamy, stream-of-consciousness accumulating of earth-toned images, follows Theresa through her afflicted process. She shares her home, originally her mother's, with a bounded logger (Joe Cole) and the cement captivation the accord calm is active thin. The narrative, which isn't absolutely narrative-bound, includes the careless annihilation of a key acknowledging character, but "Woodshock" (a Humboldt County announcement for accepting absent in all those beauteous Sequoias) is far added accountable by textures than artifice devices.

It's dominated, in added words, by shots of Dunst's fingers, gliding beyond age-old redwood bark; bifold exposures of the extra twirling in the forest, or artlessly staring bottomward the camera; and bugged portraits of Dunst captivation a allotment of bottle up to the sunlight. Now and again the Mulleavys abduction a moment or blink of accurate mystery; added often, and absolutely in affecting terms, "Woodshock" feels like a cine that never stops buffering.

Dunst does all she can. She curtains into the babyhood of clandestine affliction she brought to the awning so memorably in Lars von Trier's "Melancholia," keeps this activity from amphibian abroad altogether. But alike in a dreamscape audibly aloof in dialogue, exchanges such as: "How's Theresa?" "She's fine, she's just, you apperceive ... Theresa" add up to asleep copse and the adverse of an immersive accurate trip. The cine turns you, the audience, into the one being at the affair who isn't high.

Chicago Tribune

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