📡’s review published on Letterboxd:
kaufman at his most twitchiest, frantic, anxious and yet subdued and long dead. cold landscapes, hollow interiors, warmth flickering in and quickly freezing the room with its departure. a painful ode to life, what could be, what it is; perhaps a pig being eaten alive, perhaps a car trapped under snow. a reflection of the human shape and the potency of escapism and the horror of fantasy, fantasy which knows it is not real and at some point is destined to sabotage itself to force the dreamer awake again. the mind, unlike a movie, is messy and boundless and most of all: truthful, atleast a movie can be refined into linearity. a fantasy that is splintering and breaking under its own weight. i love this type of movie, pure K-hole cinema, nor a daydream or a nightmare but a distant and panicked descent into nothingness and unknowingness or maybe everything, either way its all way too much to compute. profound dysfunction in the eternal cyclical acceptance of the fabricatedl accelerated by regret and lingering trauma. the human body as a painful vessel that must be evacuated at all costs, guilt and dread corrupting the free spirit like ghosts standing in a childhood bedroom.
the fantasy of loving another as a claustral inescapable encounter with having to love yourself, when you can't do that, you can't love your partner. and so, whatever you create cannot honestly love you either.
"Christmas, Twin Falls, Idaho is her oldest memory
She was only two
It was the first time she felt blue
Cafeteria, Harrison Elementary
Beneath a parachute
I saw her without shoes
7UP I touched her thumb and she knew it was me
Although she couldn't see
Unless of course she peeked
My mom's good she got me out of Twin Falls, Idaho
Before I got too old
You know how that goes
That's where she still was the summer she turned 17
In 1983, three weeks after me
Last I heard was she had twins or maybe it was three
Although I've never seen
But that don't bother me."
in twin falls by built to spill, doug sings about a girl he used to know. although distant throughout all of his life, he still remembers her despite only having a singular and menial encounter. regardless, he still dreams of her and fabricates her life according to his limited perception of her, restricted to only what he can assume and dream about her, deficient of truth. this is his fantasy, being happy with the time he knew her and possibly the time she knew him and hes fine with that. but ultimately, its a bittersweet tale because he is blissfully unaware of the life they could've had together, platonically or romantically. instead chose to accept his fantasised version of her life rather than live in reality with the real her. im thinking of ending things is like the tape of twin falls if it were played 1000 times, warbled and wobbly, deteriorating and no longer able to sustain his fantasy, like a fading memory, like a dream that sabotages the dreamer. there is simply not enough fuel in the tank to ride off dreams forever. and now doug, jake, kaufman, whoever, has to wake up to accept the grim consequences of not shedding the baggage of their regret until it was too late.