If I could make Paul Mescal completely disappear (not killed but gently, painlessly transformed into a vapor ghost….a wandering spirit)…if I could get rid of this guy by clapping my hands three times, I would clap my hands three times. Otherwise I mean none harm. I think none harm. I want none harm. I’m just imagining his absence.
On top of which Andrew Scott‘s head is too big for his narrow shoulders, and I don’t like the mint-green-and-white vertically striped shirt.
All Of Us Strangers is a classy, earnestly felt, slightly above-average film about…well, about reimagining Taichi Yamada‘s horror-tinged original to suit a gay agenda, and secondarily about affirming one’s identity with long-dead parents. A decent job.
After seeing it in Telluride three and a quarter months ago a new cinematic term had formulated in my head — “beard-stubble sex scenes.”