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‘She’s married to shrink Frederik (Michael Stuhlbarg), who mostly pads around their massive cozy-luxurious flat listening to atonal music, whipping up crocks full of cassoulet, and making smarty-pants quips.’

Some wonderful sentences in this review of a film centered on the Yale philosophy department.

Against all of this allegedly heady stuff, the score—by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross—intentionally jars us from encroaching drowsiness with chortling woodwinds and shardlike piano chords that are the aural equivalent of jagged Plexiglass off-cuts. Remember, this isn’t just a movie; it’s art.

LOL.

And a paragraph for UD’s Morrissey-fan sister:

… [Chloe Sevigny] owns the movie’s single greatest moment: sitting with Alma at a college watering hole, she marvels that they’re playing a Morrissey song on the jukebox, given that he’s become persona non grata for his far-right political views. Alma corrects her: it’s not a Morrissey song that’s playing, but one by Morrissey’s band, the Smiths. (It’s “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now.”) Sevigny responds with a “same difference” shrug and goes back to her goblet of red wine. Not every encounter or exchange needs to entail a lesson in semantics, or the tyranny of cultural sensitivity, or the dominance of white males in academia and everywhere else. Sometimes a Morrissey song is just a Morrissey song. Even if it’s by the Smiths.

Margaret Soltan, September 1, 2025 2:52PM
Posted in: good writing

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