Are we breathing life into the exterior and interior spaces of our world, or are we mindlessly passing through the burdensome mediocrity of our alienating times?
In yet another sign of our artistically arid times, “Finch” gives us no glimpse into human nature or soul, and all attempts at it are extremely simplistic.
The viral nature of the “Let’s go, Brandon!” phenomenon should give us heart. Perhaps it is the unnatural speed of the totalitarian regime that will finally lead to its warp-speed undoing.
Lovecraft was a deeply philosophical writer, and his stories prove that probing into human consciousness can lead into the dark abyss that may or may not look back into us.
What drives Bastašić’s often tender exploration of the unreliability of memory and friendship, is a sense of loss. There is nothing saccharine about this journey.