It may come over strangely, I encounter a narration style of the 1910s. The movie also has a distinct ambiguity between silent cinema acting and sound cinema editing. The actors don’t live the story, they play, I see them play. Everything else is carefully done but the most basic narrative element, the plot, seems to have been approached too anxiously.
Today’s electronic mediacy is simply here. While some contrast is built up between the abstract and life by inserts I can’t feel anything personal with the characters. They are too passive in their circumstances. A six-pack photo is at hand, the figure, must I say, because he has no character, simply grabs what he finds. The female figure appears to be a tad more raffinated, she begins with a flam already but we don’t know how her profile image came about. We haven’t seen her faking it.
Not that one mustn’t make a movie like this, it’s just my perception of clinical telling whereas the subject would perhaps call for a sharper critique. The plot doesn’t work for me because the things that I want to experience as spectator don’t come from the figures but are externalised. Not only the imagery is extrinsic but even the language. The three girls do not exchange opinions, they reenact buffoonery.
If this is today’s world, I am vintage. Many people can’t stand classical theatre. The ancient Hellenic theatre was built upon the inner tension of characters. Hope, fear, love, loneliness, anger, rage, hatred, envy, ruse, and so on. I miss it.