... leaves you wondering what made (makes) people tick, with their dogma and faith, often skewed and misplaced, the pain and the hurt it inflicts. But we're all empty pages at birth, we're all pressed, pressured, forced and coerced, along different channels, washed with different flannel, it's a kind of familial curse.
A reflective piece of filmmaking, your own interpretations uniquely your own, depending very much on the environment you were brought up in and how much you've been able to reconcile that with what you've learnt since. Florence Pugh is magnificent as ever, although I'm not sure the opening and end scenes did anything other than confirm the contrivance, and detracted from the presentation as a whole.
Anyhow, like all good film making, it's the layers under the bog, laid down over many years that count, and the ones that really get you thinking.
A reflective piece of filmmaking, your own interpretations uniquely your own, depending very much on the environment you were brought up in and how much you've been able to reconcile that with what you've learnt since. Florence Pugh is magnificent as ever, although I'm not sure the opening and end scenes did anything other than confirm the contrivance, and detracted from the presentation as a whole.
Anyhow, like all good film making, it's the layers under the bog, laid down over many years that count, and the ones that really get you thinking.