My quick rating - 4.6/10. Anthony Hopkins steps behind the camera in in this flick, a surreal exploration of an aging screenwriter’s fractured mind. Felix Bonhoeffer (Hopkins) finds himself lost between reality and his own screenplay, with characters bleeding into his everyday life. It’s a bold premise and an equally ambitious effort, but one that ultimately crumbles under the weight of its chaotic editing and lack of coherent narrative. This is one of those movies that is open for interpretation but I believe there are some references to some form of brain damage going on throughout which may explain the plot's disjointed nature.
The film boasts an impressive ensemble cast—too many notable names to list—but even their talent can’t save Slipstream from its own pretentiousness. Hopkins, a legend I deeply respect, delivers a performance that’s overshadowed by the film’s relentless attempts to be strange for the sake of art. The rapid rewinds, abrupt cuts, and jarring scene shifts feel less like creative choices and more like an endurance test for the audience. In the streaming era, this constant visual disarray might even make you question your internet connection, but rest assured (or not), it’s all intentional.
There are glimpses of brilliance here, particularly in how the cast interacts within Felix’s disjointed reality. However, the plot never fully gels, leaving you with an experience akin to a David Lynch knockoff—strange, unsettling, but lacking the payoff Lynch is known for. Hopkins himself described the film as “bizarre,” and that might be the most fitting review of all. It is an interesting experiment but one that left me more frustrated than fascinated. The first thing I typed out when this ended was "A fever dream mess that tries too hard to be artsy." and I'll be copying that over for my headline/excerpt.
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