My only thought after watching this gleaming, richly layered porno for art’s sake by David Cronenberg is that people must have a lot of time on their hands to go around having sex in cars and then causing massive crashes. But I have a feeling this film isn’t a conduit for a type of reality, but of a hyper visual and sensual nightmare waiting to happen. Either way, it’s both smoking hot and dreadfully dull at the same time, a litany of sexual images contrasted with broken glass and twisted metal. When it comes down to it, even though Crash highlights some disturbing and fascinating philosophies at work, I prefer so many other Cronenberg films to this one.
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