doofood’s review published on Letterboxd:
One long game with the objective being to make an uncriticizable film, an infinite matroyshka doll of "that's on purpose"s, laying bare how inert art is. Shows how cinema is essentially antithetical to human life by making a Frankenstein's monster of a life out of disjointed and incoherent ideal forms, non-sequiturs, cut-and-pastes, and empty references, more late period Godard than Spike Jonze. It should require no explanation that anything that can remove the humanity from life, reducing our understanding of other people (and ourselves) and situations to established (usually media-formed) abstractions of their categories/identities and every subject to a static reference, as this shows cinema can do, is deeply evil (especially if you're Robert Zemeckis or the prestige horeshit the final scene mocks). Even more cruel is how enjoyable this demand to enjoy nothing is, how explicit the text is that cinema is a mind-virus destroying everything it touches, yet captivating you into indulging that virus with sheer screenwriting virtuosity. Obviously a film this marketed to cinephiles is going to achieve nothing presenting that message in that way, but that's another "that's on purpose", a pitch-black joke played on everyone who watches it. Love it!
(also, probably a more necessary extension of Synecdoche than just a continuation - where Synecdoche describes the boundaries of subjective experience isolating us, this film describes what actually informs the content of that subjective experience, ie cinema/media ie the satanic demiurge)