“You’re not human.”

Hyper-visual, sonically equalized, the ego embodies voicelessness in its serenade of self to the tune of a universal (brilliantly, archetypically, clichéd) trauma; electro-a-popping and dancing sexy for a wanting wont of the sanity of reality, or, for a narrative of redemption from the being of a production of a product. O! let us now all sing our own songs and weep of that magic putrefaction only found in L.A., let’s now dance our (tiny) tongues with a wanton shamelessness of all the implications of an implicit shame.

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Motif: Jenna Ortega and a gasoline can.

Motif: The Weekend’s masculinity as seen through the saline streaming of humanized tears.

Motif: drugs and booze won’t kill the dream of your night job’s demands.

Motif: there’s a definite willingness of today’s youth for obsessive mental contortions gloriously strained by marketing campaigns.

Motif: as though one must listen to oneself for one to unlearn self; and, at some point, one must inevitably come to a tangible disgust of one’s own characterized vocal representations.

Motif: inside jokes are at this moment in history for the kids of the moment; and, a cinema vis-a-vis audience, I’m very grateful to here type, on 5/16/2025, ‘exists.’

Motif: to feed the femme fatale (emotionally, bodily, spiritually) that feeds the void of your id is to rest on your laurels with a knowing ill ease; sharing this as legacy is true to a tragically contemporaneous-extreme form of monetized and commercialized therapy.

Motif: it takes a certain self-stylized pain to ease the embarrassment of fame.

Motif: aesthetic violence divides space and time into a discernible grace of forgiving logic.

Motif: piles of money are hilarious in the hands of the more artsy music video-ists (and for Christ’s fucking sake please keep this a one-off).

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This is the first film I’ve seen with a photosensitivity warning, and I’ll go on record here and now as saying: this will become both ‘cult’ and ‘classic’ (at least to the cult of myself, and perhaps to all those hopelessly spunky and star-punked Weekend-ites too).