I watched The Man Who Killed Don Quixote the other night. It was an utterly gonzo experience. And, like Bilge Ebiri at The Village Voice said, “I adored pretty much every single glorious, gorgeous goddamn minute of it.”
They don’t make movies like this anymore. It’s not another reboot or sequel or retail merch wet dream from the toy aisle at Walmart. It’s not a cameo-riddled, spandex cartoon ending with 30 minutes of CGI armageddon.
The Man Who Killed Don Quixote is a deliberately meta fever dream. It’s a comedy where, by the time you figure out what’s going on—where you feel like you might just know what is real and what is fantasy—you no longer care about reality, and cheer for the deluded hero because he’s the only one worth believing in anymore.
It’s a story about letting go of society’s labels, becoming someone you believe in, and chasing your dream. As Quixote says, “We become what we hold onto.”
Without a doubt, one of my all-time favorite movies.
This will be a marvelous day for adventure, Sancho. I can feel it in my bones.
PS: And yes, it’s Kylo Ren and two of the bad guys from Ronin in this. #excellent
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