Frolicking barefoot, chomping cigars; children sitting in the corner trying to comprehend things outside their own maturity.

I’ll admit, I had no clue any of this history even happened—so, color me surprised. The film caught me off guard, to say the least.

What I appreciated most was how the music fades into the background as the story deepens, giving way to something much heavier. It’s a subtle shift, but it says something profound: life doesn’t pause for trauma. Even in the midst of pain, those quiet moments still slip by. The world keeps turning. And in that, there’s something quietly devastating, something that stays with like true heartache.

The performances are a big part of that lingering effect—each one, from the smallest roles to the standout turns, adds layers of nuance and richness to the film. They capture the diversity of experiences woven into this story, creating a full spectrum of humanity that elevates the drama and makes it feel all the more real.

A Complete Unknown doesn’t do much to set itself apart from the crowded field of music biopics. It’s well-acted, competently made, but ultimately so safe that it slips into the realm of forgettable. What gives the film a slight edge is how you could view it not as a traditional biopic, but more as a retelling of Bob Dylan’s transition to electric music. The film is essentially split into two parts: the first covering Dylan’s rise in the folk scene from 1961 to 1964, followed by a time jump to 1965, where the second half focuses on his move toward electric sound. This structure works well, offering a clear narrative arc rather than cramming his entire, sprawling career into a shallow, dramatized Wikipedia page. It simply falls flat on execution. The script feels clichéd, and the moments that should pop with cinematic energy often come across as flat. The film is serviceable as far as generic music biopics go, but it fails to offer anything truly remarkable or memorable. It’s costumes without character. It spells out who these people are—hell, it even does a good job of making it all look sexy—but it doesn’t do the hard work of saying anything meaningful about them.

This was brutal to watch—unsettling in a way that sticks with you long after. At times, the first-person camera work veers dangerously close to the over-sentimental style of a tired computer ad. But that doesn’t lessen the sheer intensity and heartbreaking grip this film has on you. It’s one of those rare films that challenges our historical narratives and fosters genuine empathy, never cheapening the experience with sentimental cues or drawn-out monologues.

This is a meditation on the reality of trauma, and what that trauma means in a historical context. History, after all, is just perspective. And with the film’s first-person conceit, you’re not just observing history—you’re living it. No matter how painful, how fucked up, how traumatizing it may be.

I cherished every moment of this film, so much so that I found myself back in the theater for a second viewing—there’s no greater testament to a film’s staying power. It’s brimming with personality, the kind of rare energy that makes it stick with you long after the credits roll. This is Sean Baker’s best work to date, effortlessly balancing the line between playing with conventional filmmaking and letting his darker impulses run free. It’s got everything: the intensity of a heist film, the absurdity of a sex comedy, the chaos of a bombastic love story, all wrapped up in a story about a woman’s complex relationship with intimacy. Brilliant.

From the jump, this film comes at you—dense, ambitious, brimming with ideas. It doesn’t waste time, but somewhere along the way, the plot never quite gathers the steam it needs to pull you under. It’s almost as if something’s missing in the second act, a shift or pivot that could have given it more weight. By the time it settles into its final thoughts, what it’s trying to say is worth chewing on—but then again, maybe that’s just me, drawn in by the subject matter itself. It’s a film that demands attention, even if it doesn’t fully earn it.

The cinematography is just… chefs kiss

I got lost in the world this film builds, and I wasn’t in a hurry to leave. Sure, the second half doesn’t quite measure up to the first, but I respect it for sticking to its guns, for not watering down its vision. In an age where so many films play it safe, there’s something gutsy about this one, refusing to compromise, even if it means stumbling a bit along the way.

The film is striking in its bluntness—over the top and painfully on the nose, leaving little room for nuance. It feels less like a cinematic experience and more like a whirlwind, as though it were translated from French to English, losing all the subtlety in the process. The result is an exhausting and uncomfortable watch, where every moment seems to demand attention without ever earning it.

Oof. It felt overly confident in its “edgy” perspective, while simultaneously being incredibly one dimensional. It’s very boomer-coded. It’s sadly transphobic.  I don’t think this film is smart enough to tackle this subject matter. 

The music is fine and the cinematography is pretty.

Nearly eight months later, as I sit here trying to piece together the memory of this film, one thing remains undeniably clear: its brutal, epic cinematography. The visuals are striking, unforgettable, but beyond that, the story itself blurs into a haze. If I had to sum it up in a single word, though, it would be "heart." There’s an undeniable care and emotional depth woven into this grandiose narrative, and ultimately, that’s what you’re left with—a resonant feeling, even if the details fade away. I still don't think this should win best picture.

The film has all the right ingredients—impressive vocal talent, striking choreography, and genuine heart. Yet, it stumbles under the weight of a massive challenge: adapting only half of a story into a single film, a misstep that, to me, seemed to have been left behind in the 2010s with the glut of YA action-adventure blockbusters. This is too long—often, I had a true restlessness sitting through drawn-out scenes that just will not end, having no reason to be there other than an overconfidence in the material. Ultimately, it all amounts to a self-indulgent parade of hits, which is a shame because when the film does stick its landing, it is a lot of fun.

Had the runtime been trimmed, the emotional crescendos in the climax might have landed with the weight they deserve. As it stands, however, the film feels like little more than a product riding the coattails of nostalgia, coasting by on the goodwill of what’s come before, rather than what it truly brings to the table.