Wounds

Haven't read Ballingrud but the underlying material seems to be in the tradition of ~thuhh Weeeeird~, with Lovecraftian and (Donald) Wollheimian elements, except here it's like five-eighths of a story, with one of the most laughable sore-thumb exposition dumps I've ever seen (nightmare buddy at the kitchen table). More interesting was the milieu Hammer's character operates in, the local bar that seems a home for both grizzled scuzznecks and sexy hipsters (as the best locals are), as well as his willful self-destruction and sometimes nicely-observed alcoholism, all of which is fatally undermined by sketchy characterization. Will's refusal to tell the truth to his girlfriend advances far beyond a point that is defensible on any level of character or commentary. Why, with her vortex kisses, does he not just fucking come clean already about pitching the phone and everything else? "Men are pussies" is a stubborn crutch for bad writing.

I was kind of surprised to see Dakota Johnson in such a thankless supporting role. I guess this was still a strange time, trying to establish herself after FIFTY SHADES, nearly contemporaneous with BAD TIMES. I should see that Tig Notaro thing but the mere existence of MADAME WEB (abandoned to get drunk after 20 minutes and never finished) is evidence enough that Hollywood is broken. She's great. A gifted and underused comic actress. Better than both her parents. I am not a pussy.