You were just doing your thing, looking forward to a good psychological drama. You'd heard a bit about this but the whole narrative's pretty over the top, right? Then wham! THIS IS TRUE in face-punching sans serif stuns your critical faculties and lets you know the score. You look it up on Wikipedia and wow, it does seem to have actually happened, and it was awful. Your heart starts to sink but it'll be okay, you've taken on tough movies before and ultimately, it is just a movie, it's not a big deal, and Dreama Walker is extremely pretty.
You can't see much with all those close-up details of the objects in the room but you can trust they mean something because the director wouldn't do it otherwise. It does get coy with framing and focus, but you know you couldn't handle that information anyway, it's too nasty.
It's too claustrophobic and greasy and exhausting, and when you start to question why someone would do something like that you remember the simple parameters laid out at the start -- busy day, bit of guilt, power imbalance and the answers come pretty easy. When there's an elision three-quarters of the way in you wake up a bit and ask, really? So you check Wikipedia and find out you have to go along with it -- this Really Did Happen.
But there comes a point where you have to say, this is enough. This is too disturbing and watching has become untenable. And it hears you, and it cares about you, so it steps back and gives you a long take in a car, sitting close on a gumshoe driving in to save the day. You take a deep breath and watch, and are glad to be reassured that the police are really just trying to help. After all, they work hard, they catch the bad guy and the assaulted woman gets protected and eventually sues. That's a good outcome.
The credits roll after some text reminds you again about how it was a true story. Sure it was unpleasant and you didn't like watching it; gosh, nobody would. It's not like you wanted to see Dreama Walker's boobs, at least never like this, but now you're down with this bit of the film conversation. And it's true, so these kind of stories need to be told, and you supported an indie movie in these tough economic times. The movie needs you, really.
It sure couldn't do it without you.
You can't see much with all those close-up details of the objects in the room but you can trust they mean something because the director wouldn't do it otherwise. It does get coy with framing and focus, but you know you couldn't handle that information anyway, it's too nasty.
It's too claustrophobic and greasy and exhausting, and when you start to question why someone would do something like that you remember the simple parameters laid out at the start -- busy day, bit of guilt, power imbalance and the answers come pretty easy. When there's an elision three-quarters of the way in you wake up a bit and ask, really? So you check Wikipedia and find out you have to go along with it -- this Really Did Happen.
But there comes a point where you have to say, this is enough. This is too disturbing and watching has become untenable. And it hears you, and it cares about you, so it steps back and gives you a long take in a car, sitting close on a gumshoe driving in to save the day. You take a deep breath and watch, and are glad to be reassured that the police are really just trying to help. After all, they work hard, they catch the bad guy and the assaulted woman gets protected and eventually sues. That's a good outcome.
The credits roll after some text reminds you again about how it was a true story. Sure it was unpleasant and you didn't like watching it; gosh, nobody would. It's not like you wanted to see Dreama Walker's boobs, at least never like this, but now you're down with this bit of the film conversation. And it's true, so these kind of stories need to be told, and you supported an indie movie in these tough economic times. The movie needs you, really.
It sure couldn't do it without you.
