Easily one of the better movies I've seen this year, razor sharp satire of tech culture, work, art and counterculture, the elite, capitalism, social and racial commentary, American consumerism and entertainment, as well as showcasing the racial and socioeconomic dynamics of Oakland. All the performances were excellent, any criticism would be the flow and pacing, and sometimes Stanfield's performance felt off a little.
The WrryFree was such cuttingly real dystopian satire. The I got the shyt kicked out of me show. The brotopia party.
I always think about these things anyway, as I am pretty prone to self examination, but consider this, as I walked out:
On Saturday, I was at an art gallery exhibit my friend owns, it wasn't nearly as provocative and socially active as Detroit's, but strong anti Trump pieces, and a lot of examination of sexuality, rape, consent. A lot of privileged people there. People selling 16,000 table pieces. I meet up with a friend after, she is Mexican, but works admin in an import/export that coordinates with maquiladoras in Baja. I was wearing $600 Gucci shoes I bought in Beverly Hills last week. I saw the movie itself in La Jolla, the most expensive area of San Diego, where Mitt Romney owns a home down the street. I don't even order from the servers in the theater, because I feel so guilty that they have to wait on people, people with money, people who are entirely dismissive of them and their very existence. I walked in a protest march a month ago, I booked a trip to Punta Mita today. The point is capitalsim infects me too, and I earned everything I have the hard way, but I still feel guilty everyday that people suffer through horrible jobs and don't make much money. Yet, who cleans my hotel? Who serves me dinner?
