This movie has no business being as good as it is. An aging and recently disabled starlet (played by MIRIAM HOPKINS!) becomes the mark for a conniving serial killer, and it’s honestly fantastic. 

The acting is a cut above, and especially Hopkins, Gale Sondergaard, and Virginia Wing stand out in their performances. The cinematography has spectacular moments and the camera is really working with care. 

It’s like someone combined Sunset Boulevard with a much less nuanced version of Saltburn. 

Beautiful music, but kind of a non-plot throughout. The choral scenes are what really take the cake here: Mussorgsky really brilliantly deploys those forces.

Directionless nothing-burger of a film that doesn't know what it is or what exactly it's setting out to do. The camerawork was pretentious as hell, and never took advantage of the black and white color palette. Just so much here feels lazy, contrived, and baited. The tone was as inconsistent as the visual grammar, and the overall product was maddeningly dull and vacuous, the worst kind of film one should be subjected to before charges can be filed.

A demented transmission from another dimension. Proto-punk clowns enforcing the draconian rules of dystopia, god delivers grainy shot-in-shot monologues. I have no idea how something like this got made, but its sentiment is really in the right place even if it can be pretty horribly dated in execution.

Negative cinema. One of the most bizarrely enticing things I've ever encountered.