Fusing old school grit with contemporary cloth, You Were Never Really Here emerges from an acid trip to the cutting room as one of the most remarkable films of this generation.
As we immerse ourselves in a bracing loss of innocence, we are riveted to the rhythm of this doom spiral.
Often when reading narratives that decide to play with time, jumping back and forth without warning, I wonder if the book would hold up as well if it were rearranged in chronological order.
There’s a tenderness within Gazdanov that seems to recall Carson McCullers or Anne Tyler
And when the narrative stops on a dime after an ice-cold 97 pages, you’re left wanting more.
The case is open and shut. But when the incarcerated murderer hires a disreputable lawyer to investigate the possibility that it was someone else, the case inverts into a claustrophobic entanglement of red tape, sin and checkered pasts.