I saw it last night.
It's interesting because when I saw
Love, easily 5 people walked out of the room and one woman in front of me was begging her partner to leave and said (loud enough for all of us sinners) "
This is disgusting". I thought Love was beautiful, perfectly flawed but probably the most accurate portrayal of the small ways people f*ck up in real life and the magnitude of the damage in terms of emotions and life direction. The p*rn was just embellishment, almost to ease the heartbreak, and quite minimal, but of course journalists lost their s*it over it and 90% of the reviews were focused on that.
Last night, maybe it was the Korean BBQ overdose I had or the fact that it was past midnight, but I felt so nauseous, I have never walked out of a movie but seriously considered it. I covered my eyes and ears for much of the violence, it just went on for way too long. I appreciate the portrayal of a human being stripped of all his constructed elements and reduced to his most primal and also to the very essence of his human condition, I liked the accuracy, but as much as I love Iñarrítu and Lubezki (who, again, is wonderful here), this need to present violence so detailed and for so long is crass. And hearing all the 'wow' 'whoaaa' as the audience rejoiced in this display of barbarian imagery, this time justified but not unlike those in the government-endorsed "military films"... I never felt more foreign, and I was quite disappointed by this direction from Iñarrítu. Of all directors, I would've thought he was the least likely to contribute to the long-time affair American cinema has with tales of savagery "with a point". From the very beginning, he's never been afraid of presenting existence being tested emotionally and physically in all its splendor (or horror), but what started as that scene with the dog as loss unfolded in Amores Perros... now all I got last night was the dog with a few reminders of why this is a movie and not an ad for my next trip to the Rocky Mountains.
.. that scene of Leonardo hugging the tree btw, probably the most autobiographical, simple scene I can remember from Iñarrítu, and the fantasy of anyone that's experienced loss. Also a scene in common with Love, lol..