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Though Saturn Bowling is a film of such brute force and little subtlety, it leaves you feeling so unsettled as it plays out like a true Greek tragedy. Like father, like son. The film offers so much intrigue in its prologue, as you are left to wonder what Armand - at first an innocent eyed young drifter, betrayed by his physicality - is avoiding.
The penny drops in a scene of shifting motivations, astonishingly well directed by Patricia Mazuy. When it does, the film shifts into a procedural. We’re left hanging on every scene, despite how as the audience, we already have every thread unravelled.
It’s visually striking in such stark ways. The deep red of the titular bowling alley sears into you, the low resolution Herzog-esque hunting videos are equally as enthralling. It’s as if Paul Schrader made a film to compliment the painting Saturn Devouring His Son… a cautionary tale of the hereditary nature of male violence.
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