You have to appreciate director Edgar Wright’s sheer ambition, but watching this highly stylized film is an arduous undertaking.
Follows the typical pattern of a Shyamalan project: a good idea with slightly better than average storytelling that culminates in a finale reveal that’s an anticlimactic letdown.
This could’ve been something truly special if Waititi didn’t insist on spending the majority of his time winking at the audience.
The majority of the film’s characters are invisible, unhoused, and living in the woods. To call them isolationists seems unfair: they simply find their own human connections through privacy. Who are we to say what defines a home?