Poor Things

Poor Things is a movie that struts into the room with the confidence of someone wearing mismatched socks and insisting it’s a fashion statement. Directed by Yorgos Lanthimos, a man who seems determined to turn every movie into an art gallery exhibit no one quite understands, this film is a kaleidoscope of weirdness that somehow manages to be dazzling, frustrating, and just plain exhausting all at once.
‍

Let’s start with Emma Stone. As Bella, a child’s mind in an adult’s body, she is, of course, utterly brilliant. She captures the awkward curiosity and uninhibited wonder of a toddler discovering the world, but with a posh British accent so perfect it’s hard to believe she didn’t learn to talk in Buckingham Palace. Her performance is a tour de force, so good that it’s almost enough to distract you from the relentless absurdity surrounding her.

Speaking of absurdity, Mark Ruffalo shows up with an English accent so comically bad it feels intentional—which, thankfully, works for his character. Ruffalo plays a shallow, phoney lawyer named Duncan Wedderburn who is equal parts sleaze and charm. It’s clear he’s having the time of his life, chewing up every line with a twinkle in his eye, and honestly, who could blame him? If nothing else, he’s proof that bad accents can be endearing if delivered with enough enthusiasm.
‍

Visually, Poor Things is a masterpiece. Every frame feels like a bizarrely gorgeous oil painting, with a world so rich and imaginative it practically dares you not to stare. But then there’s the music, which veers between enchanting and straight-up annoying. It’s like a soundtrack designed by someone who wanted to keep you awake in case you dared to doze off during one of the endless monologues or overly long scenes.
‍

Now, let’s talk about the ahem adult content. This is not a movie to watch with your parents, unless you enjoy sitting awkwardly in silence while graphic sex scenes go on longer than the runtime of some short films. The nudity is meant to symbolize Bella’s journey, but somewhere along the way, it feels like the movie starts yelling, “Nakedness equals art!” louder than it needed to. A little subtlety here would have gone a long way—or at least shortened the runtime.

Thematically, the film tackles big ideas: women’s choices, societal structures, the disparity between rich and poor, and what it means to grow up. These are important and fascinating topics, but the execution feels like someone dumped them into a blender, hit puree, and then spilled the contents onto a beautiful tablecloth. The result is thought-provoking, yes, but also messy and disjointed.
‍

Which brings us to Lanthimos himself, a director who is perpetually hiding behind eccentricity so no one notices the flaws in his craft. Watching Poor Things feels like staring at an expensive modern art painting that’s just a red dot on a white canvas. You know it’s supposed to be profound, but part of you wonders if you’re being pranked.