This script is so brilliant. I keep pausing every five minutes to write down lines and think of what excellent epigraphs they’d be.
Nice companion, in a way, to Mean Streets. Young people without a thought in their heads or a qualm in their hearts destroy themselves and others pretty much just out of boredom.
Malick is much more the poet than Scorsese, though. The musical counterpoints in Mean Streets are designed to make you squirm–a lesson which Tarantino took to what I hope to God is the ultimate extreme in Reservoir Dogs [don’t click that unless you’re a glutton for punishment]–and the occasional arty nonsequitur shots in Malick seem much more part of the fabric in Malick than in Scorsese, where they feel like an assignment for an admired but hated professor.
Fuck, what’s to say. This is the Bonnie and Clyde we deserve and are.