It feels so fucking cold.
Sounds absurd that a film as openly aggressive as Ms. 45 could so accurately capture the feeling of sexual abuse but more importantly the feelings afterward (indeed, what it still feels like for me).
No -- I haven't turned into a hyper-emotional murderess -- but the repetition of events, the idea that perhaps replaying moments can change the way they happened, the discomfort of comfort and the visual representations of recreating traumas through menial tasks. it's so much easier to be unhappy because there is never any cohesion between what somebody already has possession of and what somebody wishes to be in possession of (in this case: sanity, stability, understanding).
Even Ferrara's visual styling seems…