Ben Wheatley’s Kill List doesn’t scare you with what it shows, it scares you with what it tricks you into seeing.
Ben Wheatley’s Kill List doesn’t scare you with what it shows, it scares you with what it tricks you into seeing.
Intermezzo flirts with emotional depth, but keeps ghosting its own potential.
For those who want their metal slow, loud, emotionally ruinous and occasionally French.
Anju Singh’s music won’t comfort you, but it might change how you listen forever.
Thirty-three minutes of self-inflicted psychic damage and you’ll ask for another serving.
The Monkey is what happens when daddy issues, cursed antiques, and one very committed wind-up toy team up to ruin your whole bloodline.
Some records scream to be heard; this one waits for you to get quiet enough to notice it.
What happens when a great director stops needing a reason to say something?
I wrote a bad review of Craig Clevenger’s latest novel. He answered. Then we met. Was Literaryville really too small for two aging, sensitive dudes?
You’ll pretend it’s about the beat, but this EP know what you’re really feeling.
It’s a novel that slips under your skin like a lover you don’t trust: whispering questions about your body, your cravings, and whether intimacy is just a beautifully coded illusion.
What if the scariest movie you’ll ever see is just a grainy home video of being four years old, awake when you shouldn’t be, and the house has started to forget you exist?
Demolition isn’t about grief so much as it’s about the performative absurdity of pretending grief makes sense, like trying to fix a broken marriage by taking apart a perfectly good refrigerator with a Phillips-head screwdriver and a God complex.