(may contain spoilers)
Douban rating: 6.3
Director: Sean Baker
Starring: Mikey Madison, Mark Eydelshteyn, Yura Borisov
Douban Comments: “I was laughing non-stop once the movie hit its stride. The chemistry between the bald guy and the female lead had me completely obsessed. The ending scene where they’re sitting in the car with heavy snow falling outside was unforgettable. The female lead sits on him, trying to use intimacy to repay his kindness, but he shows no interest in that – his eyes are fixed solely on her expression. It’s only when she’s finally overwhelmed by her emotions and collapses into his arms, sobbing, that he embraces her. That hug hit me so deeply.
But the first 30 minutes had too many unnecessary ‘provocative’ scenes, so I’m deducting one star for that.”
“A variation on Sean Baker’s signature style. The film starts by building a dazzling Hollywood romance fairy tale, only to see it unravel midway into chaotic, hysterical confrontations and a frenzied race through New York. By the final act, where it attempts to reconstruct the romance narrative, all that remains is a fractured, fragile shell.
Throughout the film, the protagonist is trapped in a materialistic society dominated by money and class. Money and everything it can buy – commodities, sex – are depicted with striking violence, creating an oppressive backdrop. The female lead mirrors the resilient characters from Baker’s previous works: outwardly tough and unyielding, refusing to give up even in the most hopeless scenarios. Her struggle feels like a reinterpretation of Cabiria’s pure romantic ideals, now made more contemporary and brutal – a desperate, violent fantasy of transcending class boundaries. In this sense, it’s almost an anti-Pretty Woman narrative, rejecting the traditional Hollywood-American Dream storytelling.
Despite relentless blows from reality, the protagonist never bows down or admits defeat – until she’s utterly shattered in the film’s final claustrophobic moments. This might be Baker’s finest work since Tangerine.”
“While attempting to deconstruct the Cinderella trope, the film itself becomes mired in melodrama and clichés. The fairy-tale elements are visually striking and stylistically distinctive, but the anti-fairy-tale aspects rarely go beyond a shallow surface.
The characters lack depth: the female lead feels like a paper cutout, the male lead serves as a mere plot device, and the supporting cast are little more than NPCs. There’s almost no exploration of character psychology or coherent growth arcs. The portrayal of the wealthy heir is unimaginative – he’s the son of a Russian oligarch and arms dealer, a reductive setup that crudely shifts blame and reinforces a simplistic us-vs-them dichotomy.
On a deeper level, the film lacks intellectual substance, failing to provide any reason why it should be considered a highlight of Cannes, awards season, or the year’s global cinema. The absurdist comedy in the overly long second act offers a few bitter laughs, but the ending takes a blunt, overly direct approach, further exposing the male gaze and exploitative undertones lurking behind the female lead’s story. As the so-called pinnacle of art cinema converges with the Oscar-driven glitz of awards season, one can’t help but question: is world cinema heading in the right direction?”
