bbasilisk

The Draags - towering, blue, detached - rule with cold intellect, reducing humans (Oms) to pets, pests, or rebels. It's colonialism in sci-fi drag. But what makes it so impactful is not just the allegory - it's the texture. Every creature, plant, and ritual pulses with weird life. The world is deeply other, and yet uncomfortably familiar.

The soundtrack? A psych-jazz acid trip.

The visuals? Like Dalí, Moebius, and Hieronymus Bosch got high together in a mushroom forest.

The tone? Uneasy. Meditative. Unforgiving.

At times, it's more symbolic than emotional - and that's the only reason it doesn't get a full 10. You don't always feel for the characters as much as you marvel at the world. But the ideas - domination, resistance, knowledge, transcendence - they stick.

Told through the eyes of Marjane - bold, brilliant, and defiant even as a child - this animated memoir captures the impossible balancing act of growing up during and after the Iranian Revolution. The film's strength lies in its simplicity: stark lines, honest words, and a refusal to flatten complex truths into easy slogans.

This isn't just about Iran. It's about identity.

About exile.

About the pain of becoming yourself in a world that keeps trying to shrink you.

The animation is elegant and haunting - like Persian shadow puppets set on fire. Marjane's punk phase, her heartbreaks, her moments of laughter and shame - all pulse with life. One minute you're crying. The next you're laughing. Then you're just quiet, holding the weight of it all in your chest.

The premise is magical: a wounded stuntman tells an epic tale to a little girl in a hospital, and her imagination brings it to life. Lee Pace is magnetic, and Catinca Untaru, as the girl, is luminous - she grounds the film with genuine innocence and curiosity. But even with her warmth, the emotional center sometimes feels distant, like the characters are walking through a painting rather than living inside it.

I wanted to love it. I wanted to feel it as deeply as I saw it. But too often, the beauty became a barrier - gorgeous, yes, but cold. The grief at its core never quite pierced the surface the way it could have.

Still, for sheer ambition and craft, The Fall is unforgettable. It's a visual odyssey, a monument to imagination - even if the heart of it doesn't beat as loudly as it promises.