The mystery of this mystery is whether it's an actual mystery, a veritable break in the fourth wall. On the one hand, hallucination hypotheses are supported by the ever present handyman. On the other hand, there is a continuing flow of empirical data to support her suspicions. I liked the tease: is this "real" only in her head, or real, period.
Dali-like, you'll find film's title, "The Woman in the House...," the penultimate clue. Is this comedy, horror, mystery or just plain old good drama. Sex on the stairs? Sex on the marble island? Just who is screwing who? Howling dogs? Buried hands? Surreal indeed.
Who did what to whom changes all too quickly. Make sure you have Tylenol for headaches from your head spinning. Make sure you pay attention to all the details in the production design; the continuity supervisor should get an Emmy. Consider buying stock in Corning Ware. Be ready also for scenes directed sweetly or you'll become diabetic, instantly.
When you assume you know, you don't, and when you assume you know, you know what that makes you (and me). Ass commentary aside, you'll love Kristen Bell's march through this panoply of the real, the hallucinated, and the surreal. Kudos to Davidson, Dorf, et al. For leading us down garden paths of a nuanced, albeit cliched, mystery journey. Be careful you don't trip. Don't assume Chastity's guilt assuages any one else's. I did.
Puns abound: be patient with Buell, the omnipresent handyman. He certainly nailed it, holy hand indeed; and he has a hand in every episode. I've never seen a mailbox needing so much attention. Why was a raccoon body found? Elizabeth's gravestone carving: Do we read it as carved, "There's No. '1' in Heaven." Or, as "There's no one in heaven." Real, or surreal, or hallucination? Find more Tylenol.
Pay attention to the casting... Massacre Mike in prison, Buell, the fingerprint technician. Subtle similarities until...
The Woman in the House... series is a palette of nuanced colors; they form cycles of meaning, and recycled nuance. Enjoy being painted confused. Yes, confused is a color, a shade of tan.
Real, satire, surreal or hallucination? Bingo.
Dali-like, you'll find film's title, "The Woman in the House...," the penultimate clue. Is this comedy, horror, mystery or just plain old good drama. Sex on the stairs? Sex on the marble island? Just who is screwing who? Howling dogs? Buried hands? Surreal indeed.
Who did what to whom changes all too quickly. Make sure you have Tylenol for headaches from your head spinning. Make sure you pay attention to all the details in the production design; the continuity supervisor should get an Emmy. Consider buying stock in Corning Ware. Be ready also for scenes directed sweetly or you'll become diabetic, instantly.
When you assume you know, you don't, and when you assume you know, you know what that makes you (and me). Ass commentary aside, you'll love Kristen Bell's march through this panoply of the real, the hallucinated, and the surreal. Kudos to Davidson, Dorf, et al. For leading us down garden paths of a nuanced, albeit cliched, mystery journey. Be careful you don't trip. Don't assume Chastity's guilt assuages any one else's. I did.
Puns abound: be patient with Buell, the omnipresent handyman. He certainly nailed it, holy hand indeed; and he has a hand in every episode. I've never seen a mailbox needing so much attention. Why was a raccoon body found? Elizabeth's gravestone carving: Do we read it as carved, "There's No. '1' in Heaven." Or, as "There's no one in heaven." Real, or surreal, or hallucination? Find more Tylenol.
Pay attention to the casting... Massacre Mike in prison, Buell, the fingerprint technician. Subtle similarities until...
The Woman in the House... series is a palette of nuanced colors; they form cycles of meaning, and recycled nuance. Enjoy being painted confused. Yes, confused is a color, a shade of tan.
Real, satire, surreal or hallucination? Bingo.