Yesterday, "Child of God" proved sufficiently mesmerizing to induce several considerable stretches without touching my dinner necessitating repeat trips to the microwave. Scott Haze's performance of a mentally unbalanced young man from a traumatic childhood living on the margins of rural society in the hills of East Tennessee during the 1950s or perhaps early 60s (guesses based on my admitted lack of knowledge regarding automobile styles and decades of production) is stark, brutal, and magnificent in every aspect from the barren winter terrain to minimalist dialogue and unvarnished depiction of man's dark heart and mad mind. Indeed, though possessed of considerably fewer intellectual faculties that Kurtz, I couldn't help but think that Lester Ballard would've been one character who could understand the profound gravity of the former's epiphany expressed by those immortal words, "The horror, the horror..."
Of course, you're moviebuilding on the bedrock foundation of an original novel by Cormac McCarthy!/peace, K
Of course, you're moviebuilding on the bedrock foundation of an original novel by Cormac McCarthy!/peace, K
