badelf
Calling this a "coming-of-age" film is like calling Bud Lite a beer. They're not in the same class. I compare this film to my other favorite re-telling of a seminal childhood memory - Joanna Hogg's Souvenir.
The great Austrian poet, Rainer Maria Rilke, once wrote "For it is not yet the memories themselves. Not till they have turned to blood within us, to glance and gesture, nameless and no longer to be distinguished from ourselves - not till then can it happen that in a most rare hour the first word of a verse arises in their midst and goes forth from them." And that is visible here. Sorrentino writes this film in his own nameless, demential blood. I laughed. I cried. This film is one of those rare captures of the human condition. This i...