There is something absurd and mesmerizing about Lance
Oppenheim’s documentary Some Kind of Heaven. The greens of the golf
courses are insanely green, the aquas of the pools are blindingly blue/green,
the synchrony of limbs or golf carts in the choreographed dances is hypnotic.
They have synchronized golf cart dances.
The Villages is nuts!
Sort of the Disneyland of retirement communities, Florida’s The Villages is a 100,000 strong city, gated and catering exclusively to elderly residents. Their town square is painted and constructed to look like a real town square – it even has a fake history that city tour guides will spin with a smile and a deep, savage tan.
This is a community of affluence ripe for satire in an era of catastrophic generational income inequality. Instead, Oppenheim finds a more melancholy and poignant inspiration. Rather than lampoon the wretched excess, the filmmaker develops character studies, unveiling something more bitter than sweet in this dessert topping of a town.
Anne and Reggie, married 47 years, began falling apart
before they moved to The Villages, but his recreational drug use and attempts
at spiritual awakening are taking a toll. A poignant look at loneliness inside
the happiest place in old age, the recently widowed Barbara works all day and
finds herself an outsider in a world full of vacant, smiling eyes.
But the true outsider is the seediest and most fascinating character of the bunch. Eighty-one-year-old Dennis cannot afford The Villages, but he’s not ashamed to scam his way in. Living in his van and preying on lonely women with money, he reminded me of the sublime Senior Love Trianglefrom 2020.
That comparison, though, only draws attention to the fairly
superficial treatment Oppenheim gives the subjects. Dennis seemed to be an opportunity
to comment on an unseemly reality seeping into this community, itself a
perversion of reality.
Oppenheim’s framing and David Bolen’s cinematography create
an unforgettable visual experience, preparing you for a Wes Anderson meets John
Waters documentary about rich old people synchronized swimming.
Well, that’s just too high a bar. Who could live up to that? Instead, Oppenheim settles for a little razzle dazzle, a little character intrigue, and enough footage to make you wonder what the hell goes on in The Villages.
No one looks forward to the consequences of their actions.
If you believe in God, they’re coming for you one way or the other.
Robert Cuffley’s latest economically made horror Bright
Hill Road shadows no-longer-functioning alcoholic Marcy (Siobhan Williams)
through a pretty bad stretch. It would be hard to imagine things getting any
worse, really. So, Marcy decides to drive across country to spend some time
with her sister Mia in California.
She doesn’t drive straight through, though. She wakes up in
her car in front of a pretty dodgy looking hotel in some forgotten little town
and finds herself checking in. The place is super weird, though, and Marcy’s
never sure if she’s hallucinating, drying out, or seeing and hearing ghosts.
Most of the time Bright Hill Road works—playing on
your guesswork without giving away all its secrets. Sometimes it does not work.
But the film lives and dies with Siobhan Williams’s performance.
Slight but scrappy, she takes on the image of Angela Bettis
or Elliot Page. You worry for her, believe in both her vulnerability and the
chip on her shoulder that might get her through it. She’s weary but spirited
and more than anything, she’s in denial.
Cuffley’s direction takes on a hallucinatory quality that
suits Susie Maloney’s trippy script. Both Act 1 and Act 3 feel rushed—the
opening bit of violence shocks you out of complaining, but the final moments
border on being unearned. Still, the meat of the film meanders at a creepy pace,
one that conjures the feeling of a bad dream.
Bright Hill Road has an intentional, low rent
Overlook quality to it—something both supernatural and seedy. It carries its own
internal logic, and while the toughest eruptions of violence hit us in the film’s
opening moments, it has some grim images to share as the hotel takes on
additional guests.
Cuffley doesn’t break a lot of new ground, but his is an appealing riff on a familiar tune. Most of our demons are within. Trauma takes on an even more sinister form when it’s mixed up with shame. Addiction is its own monster. No one likes a shared bathroom.
The title made me think I was in for droll English humor. Not the case.
Bloody Hell, the latest from filmmaker Alister
Grierson, is a kind of American/Finnish hybrid about tourism and how it’s often
a terrible decision.
Rex (Ben O’Toole, Detroit) made one mistake. Well, it was sort of a series of mistakes all at one time, but they’re only mistakes if you think of them that way, and he doesn’t. Not really. Yes, one person died as a result, but Rex’s debt is paid now and he’s ready to rebuild his life.
Just not in the US, where the video of his “mistake” made
him wildly, oppressively famous. Nope, somewhere else. Somewhere far away.
Somewhere calm.
Finland! It’s the happiest country in the world! (It’s true.
Look it up.) What could go wrong? There’s even reindeer.
There’s also this one sadistic and insane family, and Rex is
about to get to know them and learn that unwanted fame is not, in the grander
scheme, that bad when the grander scheme includes Finnish cannibals.
Bloody Hell is funny. It’s mean funny, sometimes
tone-deaf mean and not so funny, but the often joyously dark humor almost makes
up for that. The film’s success is mainly thanks to O’Toole, who manages to be
sympathetic and sort of awful.
A string of lunatic supporting turns moves the story forward. Caroline Craig and Matthew Sunderland, in particular, are creepy fun as the heads of the household.
Credit screenwriter Robert Benjamin for much of the film’s frenetic pace. He has a knack for understanding what details we really do not need to possess to be able to follow along. Benjamin has basically strung together a series of carnage-strewn set pieces, and Grierson relies on O’Toole’s charisma to elevate these for messy, bloody laughs.
With self-deprecating charm to burn, O’Toole creates a
wrong-headed but hilarious and almost sweet tone that helps Grierson hold
together a plot that throws a lot at you. But at its heart, Bloody Hell is
the tale of a lonely guy—endearingly but borderline psychotically lonely—and what
it takes for him to find someone to love.
It takes a trip to Finland. No wonder they’re so happy over there!
And please, if you have not sought it out yet, a film that made our Best of 2019 list—Devil to Pay—is finally available. So, while we won’t add it to this year’s list, please do watch it!
In the meantime, here are our picks for the ten best horror films of 2020.
10. His House
A remarkable braiding of human tragedy, global political peril and traditional ghost story, co-writer/director Remi Weekes’s His House was one of 2020’s great surprises. Two powerful lead performances from Sope Dirisu and Lovecraft Country’s Wumni Mosaku pull you into the story of South Sudanese refugees Vol (Dirisu) and Rial (Mosaku). You ache for them as they try to find a way to fit into their new life in London—a life where so many other refugees have failed.
Tension builds quietly but steadily as the two navigate
their new community and the rules good refugees must follow, but worry for them
and their security leaps to new heights as certain horrors bring about risky
behavior. You never know whether you’re more worried that they’ll be sent back
or they’ll have to stay.
Mosaku’s stare is weightier and more powerful than anything else
you’ll encounter in this film, but it’s balanced by the vulnerability Dirisu
brings to Bol. The two deliver an urgent and profound message about guilt,
tragedy and forgiveness.
9. She Dies Tomorrow
She Dies Tomorrow is a horror film that’s one part Coherence, one part The Beach House, one part The Signal (2007, not 2014) and yet somehow entirely its own. It helps that so few people have seen any of those other movies, but the truth is that writer/director Amy Seimetz (creator of The Girlfriend Experience) is simply braiding together themes that have quietly influenced SciFi horror hybrids of late. What she does with these themes is pretty remarkable.
Her film weaves in and out of the current moment, delivering a dreamlike structure that suits its trippy premise. Amy (Kate Lyn Sheil) believes she is going to die tomorrow. She knows it. She’s sure.
She calls her friend Jane (the always amazing Jane Adams), who senses that Amy is not OK but has this obligation to go to her sister-in-law’s party…whatever, she’ll stop over on her way.
By the time Jane gets to the party, she’s also quite certain she will die tomorrow. It isn’t long before the partygoers sense their own imminent deaths; meanwhile, Amy is spreading her perception contagion elsewhere.
8. Gretel & Hansel
Sophia Lillis (IT) narrates and stars as Gretel, the center of this coming of age story—reasonable, given the change of billing suggested by the film’s title. The witch may still have a tasty meal on her mind, but this is less a cautionary tale than it is a metaphor for agency over obligation.
Alice Krige and her cheekbones strike the perfect mixture of menace and mentorship, while Sammy Leakey’s little Hansel manages to be both adorable and tiresome, as is required for the story to work.
Perkins continues to impress with his talent for visual storytelling and Galo Olivares’s cinematography heightens the film’s folkloric atmosphere.
There’s no escaping this spell. The whole affair feels like an intriguing dream.
7. The Other Lamb
The first step toward freedom is telling your own story.
Writer C.S. McMullen and director Malgorzata Szumowska tell this one really well. Between McMullen’s outrage and the macabre lyricism of Szumowska’s camera, The Other Lamb offers a dark, angry and satisfying coming-of-age tale.
Selah’s (Raffey Cassity) first period and her commune’s migration to a new and more isolated Eden offer the tale some structure. Like many a horror film, The Other Lamb occupies itself with burgeoning womanhood, the end of innocence. Unlike most others in the genre, Szumowska’s film depicts this as a time of finding your own power.
The Other Lamb does not simply suggest you question authority. It demands that you do far more than that, and do it for your own good.
6. The Lodge
Several Fiala and Veronika Franz follow up their creepy Goodnight Mommy with this “white death” horror that sees a future stepmom having a tough time getting to know the kids during a weeklong, snowbound cabin retreat. Riley Keough is riding an impressive run of performances and her work here is slippery and wonderful. As the unwanted new member in the family, she’s sympathetic but also brittle.
Jaeden Martell, a kid who has yet to deliver a less than impressive turn, is the human heartbeat at the center of the mystery in the cabin. His tenderness gives the film a quiet, pleading tragedy. Whether he’s comforting his grieving little sister or begging Grace (Keough) to come in from the snow, his performance aches and you ache with him.
There’s no denying the mounting dread the filmmakers create, and the three central performances are uniquely effective. Thanks to the actors’ commitment and the filmmakers’ skill in atmospheric horror, the movie grips you, makes you cold and uncomfortable, and ends with a memorable slap.
5. The Dark and the Wicked
Bryan Bertino is not a filmmaker to let his audience off the hook—if you’ve seen The Strangers, you know that. Like that effort, TD&TW is a slow burn with nerves fraying inside an isolated farmhouse as noises, shadows, and menacing figures lurk outside.
Bertino and cinematographer Tom Schraeder work the darkness in and around a goat farm to create a lingering, roaming dread. But where Bertino, who also writes, scores extra points is in crafting believable characters.
Too often in horror you find wildly dramatic behavior in the face of the supernatural. One character adamantly denies and defies what is clearly happening while another desperately tries to communicate with “it.” No one would do either, but this is the best way to serve the needed action to come in lesser films.
4. The Wolf of Snow Hollow
Two years ago. Thunder Road was a pretty fantastic breakout for writer/director/star Jim Cummings. A visionary character study with alternating moments of heart and hilarity, it felt like recognizable pieces molded into something bracingly original.
Now, Cummings feels it’s time to throw in some werewolves.
Cummings is officer John Marshall of the Snow Hollow sheriff’s department. John’s father (Robert Forster, in his final role) is the longtime sheriff of the small ski resort town, but Dad’s reached the age and condition where John feels he’s really the one in charge.
John’s also a recovering alcoholic with a hot temper, a bitter ex-wife and a teen daughter who doesn’t like him much. But when a young ski bunny gets slaughtered near the hot tub under a full moon, suddenly John’s got a much bigger, much bloodier problem.
At its core, The Wold of Snow Hollow is a super deluxe re-write of Thunder Road with werewolves. I call that a bloody good time.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OP2m2pG6Qn4
3. Werewolf
Liberation isn’t always the good time it’s cracked up to be. In his strangely hopeful tale Werewolf, writer/director Adrian Panek offers a different image of social rebuilding.
Werewolf is beautifully shot, inside the crumbling castle, out in the woods, even in the early, jarring nonchalance of the concentration camp’s brutality. Panek hints at supernatural elements afoot, but the magic in his film is less metaphorical than that.
The film is creepy and tense. It speaks of the unspeakable – the level of evil that can only really be understood through images of Nazi horror—but it sees a path back to something unspoiled.
2. Swallow
Putting a relevant twist on the classic “horrific mother” trope, writer/director Carlo Mirabella-Davis uses the rare eating disorder pica to anchor his exploration of gender dynamics and, in particular, control.
Where Mirabella-Davis’s talent for building tension and framing scenes drive the narrative, it’s Bennett’s performance that elevates the film. Serving as executive producer as well as star, Haley Bennett transforms over the course of the film.
When things finally burst, director and star shake off the traditional storytelling, the Yellow Wallpaper or Awakening or even Safe. The filmmaker’s vision and imagery come full circle with a bold conclusion worthy of Bennett’s performance.
1. Possessor
Brandon Cronenberg’s created a gorgeous techno world, its lulling disorientation punctuated by some of the most visceral horror to make it to the screen this year. There is something admirably confident about showing your influences this brazenly.
Credit Cronenberg, too, for the forethought to cast the two leads as females (Jennifer Jason Leigh playing the remarkable Andrea Riseborough’s boss). The theme of the film, if driven by males, would have been passe and obvious. With females, though, it’s not only more relevant and vital, but more of a gut punch when the time comes to cash the check.
Possessor is a meditation on identity, sometimes very obviously so, but the underlying message takes that concept and stabs you in your still-beating heart with it.
From the moment Sheriff Woody lamented that snake in his boot, it’s been inevitable that Tom Hanks would star in a Western. Not because he personifies the bruised masculinity, the solitary grit—that’s just ornamentation, anyway.
Tom Hanks would inevitably be the hero in a Western because we
believe he would do the right thing, however difficult that is.
The Western News of the World is a film we’re less inclined to expect from director Paul Greengrass. His kinetic camerawork and near-verite style that lent realism to United 93 and added tension to his Jason Bourne films hardly suit a Western. He adapts with a more fluid camera that underscores the tension as well as the lyricism inherent in the genre.
He also takes full advantage of our faith in Tom Hanks.
Hanks is Captain Jefferson Kyle Kidd, a Civil War veteran who travels from town to town reading news stories to weary people looking for a distraction. In his travels he comes across a 10-year-old girl (Helena Zengel, wonderful) who’d been raised by Kiowa people and is now being returned against her will to her natural aunt and uncle.
Reluctantly, Captain Kidd agrees to transport her 200 miles
across dangerous territory. Not because he wants to or because he will benefit
in any way from it. In fact, he will probably die, and she with him.
Greengrass adapts Paulette Jiles’s nove with the help of Luke Davies. An acclaimed poet, Davies can be a handful for some directors. His material, even when done well, as it was with Garth Davis’s 2016 film Lion, can feel overwrought and overwritten. But Greengrass’s touch is lighter, his style always bending more toward realism than poetry, and here he’s struck a lovely balance.
Westerns lend themselves to poetry of a sort. News of the World offers a simple hero’s journey, understated by Greengrass’s influence and Tom Hanks’s natural abilities. A damaged soul faces an opportunity to prove himself, perhaps only to himself, and he takes it. And he is forever changed.
“Welcome to Ireland! My name is Tony Reilly and I’m dead.”
So begins Wild Mountain Thyme, a romantic comedy so cartoonishly
Irish you’ll expect the Lucky Charm leprechaun to drop by for a Guinness.
Writer/director John Patrick Shanley can be very good,
especially when he’s working from his own plays. Shanley won an Oscar for
penning Moonstruck, and drew a nomination when he adapted his stage play
Doubt for the screen.
He also directed the latter, a film that soared thanks to a
quartet of nearly perfect performances (Meryl Streep, Viola Davis, Philip
Seymour Hoffman, Amy Adams—each the most exquisite piece of casting
imaginable).
Though considerably lighter, Shanley’s latest boasts an
impressive cast as well. Not Doubt impressive, but what is?
Emily Blunt and Jamie Dornan anchor the film as two unreasonably
attractive and weirdly single neighbors in rural County Mayo. Rosemary and
Anthony have known each other all their lives, and even though many (including
Anthony’s father Tony, played by Christopher Walken) have given up on the
union, Rosemary will have her beloved Anthony one day.
Let’s stop a sec on Walken. He’s a great actor, a beloved
icon, a cool dude. What he is not is Irish. Does that really matter—Walken’s
accent isn’t exactly American, right? It’s just, well, Walken.
The point is that Shanley couldn’t be less interested in
authentic Irishness. Wild Mountain Thyme’s authenticity rivals that of Darby
O’Gill and the Little People.
Oh the whimsy! The blarney! The third act reveal that outshines
any act of nonsense you are likely to find on screen this year. How much
Jameson’s did Shanley down before committing this to film?
It’s beautiful, don’t misunderstand. The verdant farms as well as the cast (Jon Hamm joins Blunt and Dornan as the Yank looking for an Irish farm and an Irish lass). It’s just so Irish-Spring-ad ridiculous.
It’s nice, though. Its belabored whimsy kind of clubs you
into a stupor by around the third or fourth rainstorm (what, no rainbow?!). The
story meanders. The symbolism serves only to further confuse things. The magic
Shanley weaves can’t transcend the film’s lunacy long enough to give Wild Mountain
Thyme the fairy tale quality it desperately wants.
Still, Blunt and Dornan are engaging and you have to give the film credit for sheer shamrock audacity.
Director Jamie Babbit specializes in comedies about unlikeable women. While the films invariably appeal to a fairly select taste, they are almost always appealing.
Not today. Today she’s made the longest 2-hour comedy in history.
I felt myself age. I did not feel myself laugh.
The Stand In should be a by-the-numbers twist on All
About Eve, an evil twin kind of comedy caper. According to its promotion,
it’s “the story of a disaffected comedy actress and her ambitious stand-in
trading places.”
Eventually, that’s what it is. Candy Black (Drew Barrymore, better than this) hates her fame, her life and her career. It’s driven her to bottles of pills and liquor and finally, into reclusion. That reclusion has driven her stand-in Paula (also Barrymore, still better than this) to unemployment and homelessness.
So eventually, they switch identities. “Eventually” being
the key word because even though you can see where this is going from the film’s
opening scene, The Stand In takes a full 45 minutes to get there.
That is to say that Act 1 is 45 minutes long. And once you’re
there you realize you know where things will go from here, so why on earth did
you wait this long to just settle into a brazenly predictable if inexplicably lengthy
and surprisingly mean spirited trajectory?
It is not because you were so busy laughing you didn’t
notice the time.
Sam Bain wrote 2010’s magnificent Four Lions, a smart,
provocative political comedy that too few people saw. Babbit directed the
ballsy cult comedy But I’m a Cheerleader. Barrymore is likable, talented
and funny. What the hell went so miserably, soul crushingly wrong with this
movie?!
A big part of the problem is a lack of commitment to tone.
Both director and writer have experience with satire, although this film fails
miserably at the wit or social commentary required. Moments of farce don’t
land, the romantic comedy angle—Barrymore’s bread and butter—is maybe its
weakest attempt.
Babbit’s film feels most at home as a belabored attempt at
dark comedy—dark mainly because every character is loathsome, so at least that
part is a success.
Sloppy and ruinous, raucous and charged, and more than anything,
punk rock—honestly, this could describe about a dozen Julian Temple movies. In
this case, crashing the party of his Sex Pistols docs and his intimate Joe
Strummer film is Shane McGowan. And he’s pissed.
Drunk, I mean.
Crock of Gold: A Few Rounds with Shane McGowan is
Temple’s exploration of life after punk.
The poet of Irish rock, a traditionalist who set gritty street
ballads to Celtic tunes, McGowan wanted to save Irish music. This was the
legacy he was after, and as frontman of the Pogues—Ireland’s second most
successful and likely most Irish band—he did.
Yes, here’s where all rock biopics ask, “At what cost?”
Temple’s film doesn’t wait, though. Opening as it does on McGowan,
60-years-old, slurring, wheelchair bound and still drinking, Crock of Gold
never hides from the ravages of a punk rock life.
The young McGowan railed at the cliché of the drunken
Irishman even as he personally confirmed it. “You want a Paddy?” he says of the
British establishment. “I’ll give you a fucking Paddy!”
The film faithfully follows McGowan’s chronology, from
boyhood in County Tipperary to angry adolescence in London, on to thrashabout
music and eventually international stardom before the inevitable crash, slow
rebuild, and crash some more.
And McGowan himself is right there, either narrating the unfolding
events or listening in to earlier tapes of him narrating. His constant presence
anchors the wild, fascinating tales with their physical toll.
Temple also fills the screen with bizarre animation, old
movie footage of the Irish War and of bucolic country life, as well as images
of McGowan’s late 70s London, Sex Pistols show and all. What he conjures is an
image of clashing ideas and ideals that found a home in McGowan’s imagination
and translated into melancholy street music.
McGowan’s touring life of drink and drugs, violence and very little toothpaste are well documented. It’s hard to pin down the feelings drummed up by all these stories. The modern day balladeer—a full set of dentures on display when he smiles, which is rarely—seems simultaneously brash and regretful.
For passing fans or newcomers to McGowan’s music, Crock of Gold is an unusually clear-eyed testament to the toll of punk rock excess. These guys were not meant to live forever.
But for true fans, it’s a painful and strangely beautiful look into one remarkable if misspent life.
Does every crappy small town in America have a dive called Polo’s
where mangey kids—many of them well, well under age—line up to try to get in?
Well, if not, writer/director Jeff Roda’s 18 to Party
makes that and just about everything else seem universal. His Linklater-esque
exploration of near-adolescence runs its course in a single evening, but that
doesn’t make it any easier to forget.
Sure, the high schoolers are all lined up out front waiting for the sun to go down and the bouncer to start letting people in. But Missy, Kira and James, Shel and Brad, Peter and Dean are stuck out behind the club, wasting time and hoping against hope that night manager Rizzo is cool enough to let them in.
Eventually.
Roda understands small town socializing and boredom enough
to know that most of the evening’s intrigue, and most of its memories, will
take place in those hours before Rizzo makes up his mind.
It’s 1984 and Generation X is, as happened to usually be the
case, unsupervised. Well, Shel (a standout Tanner Flood) is supposed to be at
Brad’s (Oliver Gifford). Everyone else’s parents are at the town meeting about
the UFO sighting.
Thoughts of extra-terrestrials, worries about getting in, general
social anxiety and inevitable personality clashes take a back seat to the realization
that Lanky (James Freedson-Jackson, really excellent) is back.
No one’s seen him since that thing with his brother.
Roda’s approach is lackadaisical, although the energy that
comes naturally off a gaggle of 14-year-olds is enough to deliver regular
explosions. Why doesn’t Shel want to fool around with Amy? What is Brad so mad
about? Why is Kira so weird?
The film and the evening are loosely structured, allowing
for plenty of riffs that occasionally provide a wink to the times (“U2 ripped
off The Alarm,” Kira claims. “Check back with me in 5 years and we’ll see who’s
still aroud.”)
More often, though, Roda develops darker threads that
suggest the kind of doom that can dog you even before you start high school,
kiss a girl or get into your first party.
Roda has a light, meandering touch, far more interested in a slice of mid-Eighties life than in the specificity of a John Hughes retread. Characters are familiar, the situation feels authentic, and the mixture of nostalgia, dread and optimism paint a fascinating if unfinished picture.
If you haven’t seen writer/director Can Evrenol’s 2015
feature debut Baskin,
you really must. Watch it right now.
Unless you’re squeamish. Then maybe don’t. But there is
another film you might like, Evrenol’s surprisingly good natured post-apocalyptic
kid adventure, Girl with No Mouth.
A little bit Goonies, a little bit Mad Max
(you know, the one with the kids with the mullets), a little bit Peter Pan,
and a lot of deformed children. He is Can Evrenol, after all.
His film is set ten years after The Corporation’s big
disaster. Ten-year-old Peri (Elif Sevinc, an effective hero regardless of the fact
that she has no dialog) bears the evidence of that disaster. When The
Corporation sends goons around to finish cleaning up any remaining evidence,
Peri is on the run in the woods, where she finds three friends with similar birth
defects.
They believe they’re pirates.
You have to give it to Evrenol, who flavors the film with
childlike innocence and fantasy without soft peddling the horror of their
situation. It’s a wildly unusual tone the film hits, but it never misses.
Girl has a sense of humor entirely lacking in Baskin, as well as a feeling of optimism. There is blood and death, maggots and burning flesh, but there’s real joy in this film, however weird that is to say.
The four children—Denizhan Akbaba, Ozgur Civelek and Kaan
Alpdayi, alongside Sevinc—utterly captivate. Their performances are not showy,
but they are vibrant and sometimes giddy. It’s the liveliest post-apocalypse
you’re likely to see.
It may never live up to the sheer WTF nastiness of Baskin, nor is it likely to haunt your nightmares the way that descent into hell would. Girl with No Mouth is an adventure film more than a horror movie, and its hopeful resolution may seem out of place in a landscape devoid of such whimsy.
It’s also the second excellent film I’ve seen this week (along with Adrian Panek’s Werewolf) that realizes adults ruin everything and there’s really only one way to fix it.
