Like finding a grubby, balled-up bill in your spangly g-string and uncrumpling it to discover doughy old Ben Franklin staring benignly back at you, Ana Lily Amirpour‘s third feature is a sweet, scuzzy surprise made all the sweeter/scuzzier because you don’t know quite what you did to deserve it.
Certainly, at the Venice Film Festival –where “Mona Lisa and the Blood Moon” snuck into competition – giggling into one’s mask at its garish but gladhearted genre excesses felt like getting away with something naughty.
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