![]() ![]() I’ve seen Neil Breen’s stuff being compared to things like The Room and Birdemic, but those movies at least seem to be entertaining in their horrendousness. It’s like modern art, particularly the part where you feel ill looking at it and where it makes you love yourself less. The film sucks an hour or two from your life force, and yet you may as well have just blown past it on the roadside going 99 miles per hour. What happens in one scene is so irrelevant to what will happen in the next, or the overall movie, for that matter, that the plot is seen more or less in peripheral. Just watching this review I had no idea what the sequential order of scenes was, and was desperately attempting to piece the timeline together until I realized it could be in literally any order and have zero impact on the film proper. This film is only outdone in audiovisual spontaneity by 1990s screensavers. Now place Fateful Findings on almost the very tip of the left side of the spectrum. In accordance with the normal distribution principal of probability theory, most of all movies ever made will likely fall somewhere in the middle. ![]() The further left a movie is, the less all of its individual scenes contribute to the point of the film. Place the immaculate films, the ones that don’t waste a single frame on celluloid, at the far right, and place them further away from the right the less tight and concise they are. Imagine plot cohesion in films as a spectrum.
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