That the brain has separate machinations as the mortal physicality is capable of wanting more beyond the limits of its locomotion is very much luring of a concept unfurled in this science-fiction pleasure. 'Poor Things.' butters up the deepest temperaments, romancing the relationship between consciousness and body, either potentially the nucleus — whichever is control during certain phases of human acts. From the first scene, it's evident this is a special concoction, far diverse than usual motion pictures. Azure billows in soft cottony mushrooms of felt texture is a hemisphere that seduces just a brush with the fingertips. Emma Stone astonishes with elaborate emotiveness in so minute gestures, mannerisms, and undeveloped, embryonic lexicon. The famous fish-eye of auteur director Yorgos Lanthimos returns to scale how compressed and approximate any space is regardless of such expanse. When his frame is vast, the purpose is perspectival, and writer Tony McNamara's simple-stated screenplay (adapted from the novel by Alasdair Gray) tells what it's for: "My amusement," angrily bursts out a wooden, vocation-anguished, and spastic Willem Dafoe as the disfigured but understanding (yet in pursuit of it) God.
Director: Yorgos Lanthimos
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