Albert Serra is operating in a league of his own and nobody else is even close.

This is easily one of the most beautiful films I’ve seen in years. The “every frame could be a painting” cliché gets thrown around a little too frequently in my opinion, but here it actually feels completely earned. 

Employing a stripped-down cinéma vérité approach featuring no narration, no interviews, no context beyond what appears in front of the lens. We learn nothing about Andrés…

I went into this expecting to be let down, knowing it wasn’t written by Efthimis Filippou, who I think is responsible for Yorgos's best work, but I'm happy to admit it completely blindsided me. Jesse Plemons is operating at a level of sheer insanity here, something akin to Michael Shannon’s intensity in Take Shelter (2011) or Bug (2006), but tempered with the tenderness and bruised vulnerability you’d expect from a Philip Seymour Hoffman performance. Easily a career best performance in…