David Michôd
Animal Kingdom

As I write, an entire city in the United States is rejoicing. Pure orgasms without having sex, or making love if you're feeling more romantic tonight: they are simply watching TV. And it doesn't even matter that their Cavs actually lost! The zoom on the "chosen one" (a nice nickname that now sounds like an outrageous joke) makes them so euphoric. Fist on the chin while still trying to figure out how the hell those four old folks managed to hand him the second loss in two games. If the first one was understandable, this one really hurts. A scratch to the ear: he's wondering if that acquisition this summer was perhaps the biggest mistake he could make. And I, rooting for that acidic and ruthless green-white team, immensely enjoy myself and head to the cinema lightheartedly, with springy steps. Satisfied.

A deep scratch, 100 minutes long. Not even enough time to put a hand on it, and it feels like you've pierced a bag full of sticky plasma. It leaves a mark no matter how much soap you want to waste.

Quick, furtive, and merciless eyes. A gaze always turned back, an ear strained toward an unsettling silence, constantly searching for a soft and muffled noise to be ready to run. Moving in the shadows, cautiously walking on uneven ground, careful not to step on something that could break the fragile balance and turn everything into a ruleless fight. Hunted prey, or rather predators who, for the first time, feel threatened; a truly unusual situation for those who have never been able to show fear, even though they've lived with it for years. Life in the pack is like that. There are no pats on the back and understandings for a painful loss. It can also cause discouragement and deep pain, but only for a moment. Then you have to do what's right to safeguard the pack: what's left of it. Revenge. Furious, immediate, excessive, and absurd. And amidst all this comes the unexpected. The pup, frightened and disoriented, enters the pack received with general coldness and suspicion. He studies the rules, learns them, tastes their hardness to the point of extreme pain, and then discovers he's a leader. An animalistic film. Made of pure violence, rotten love, sparse dialogues, dizzying actors, and lots of wild Australia.

Do you really care about the director's or actors' names? If so, I have truly wasted my time and yours.