Carlsson outdid himself with his latest film. He's pushed the no-budget art-house film about as far as it can go, with this pseudo-documentary, horror, art-film. Carlsson plays the director, creating a documentary about making a film which you are already watching. There's a lot of insight to Carlsson's artistic choices, but whether or not those are Carlsson's actual motivations or a fabrication of the characters' is up in the air, but I feel there's some meaning in the diatribes and 2 minutes of black besides utter frustration of his audience.
It's forceful and bold. It's a strong film, but doesn't try to woo it's audience. It's like Stockholm syndrome; it beats you mercilessly until you love it.
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