The whole thing feels so contrived, so idealized and awkward, it’s almost laughable.
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Seven is stiff because the motivation behind the serial killer is trite and contradictory.
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There are no distractions in Burning, nothing that would help to temper the undulation of panic and discomfort it animates.
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“No one else is going to save my life. Right? If I just sit here and diddle around, what am I going to have? Nothing.”
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They pretend that everything is healthy between them even though nothing is as it should be.
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