I feel a lot like I’m watching a Jodorowsky film with all of the symbolism replaced with literal equivalents or a French film that wasn’t too stuck up it’s own arse. This is a very fine example of Hollywood Philosophy, because it stamps the message on your head and then dares to tell you it used the wrong stamp on purpose.
Infuriatingly enjoyable, transparently philosophical and Burt Lancaster tells middle aged Joan Rivers she has nice hair.
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