Isto não é uma review concreta e técnica, mas sim uma série de devaneios engatilhados pelo filme. 

O horror de sermos uma carcassa de nós mesmos, de reconhecer o mesmo buraco negro noutra pessoa, de nos despirmos emocionalmente junto dessa pessoa, apenas para a repugnarmos por não correspondermos à versão idealizada que têm de nós. Não ser suficiente para a outra pessoa mas sentirem-se intitulados ao que representamos. Dobrarem-nos para encaixarmos nos moldes que lhes fazem mais sentido. O horror…

This made my poor heart nearly die of anxiety. I love it when a movie surprises me like this. In that final scene, I literally could not stop shaking at the rhythm. Strong performances, beautiful usage of colors. I found the romance bit really excusable, it honestly didn't add anything to the movie, and I lowkey can't stand that actress who plays Nicole anyway so there's that. I feel like some parts of the movie were a bit exaggerated, but…

From my understanding, Poor Things the book ends highlighting female sexual education and reproductive rights and Yorgos hijacked that conclusion for 30+ shots of Emma Stone’s nipples and I’m still pissed because of the movie’s potential on the stunning delirium genre.

It was like Frankenstein but written by a man, where the sole conclusion is that women’s liberation comes mainly from our objectification and sex. But it did not seem like a critique on that as much as a cynic…