This audit initially kept running in January 2016, after The Eyes of My Mother played Sundance. We are republishing it now that the film is in wide discharge.
A wiped out, stewing bad dream of a motion picture, Nicolas Pesce’s The Eyes of My Mother feels like what may have happened if Michelangelo Antonioni and Shirley Jackson had teamed up on a torment porn flick. I imply that in the most ideal way. Despite the fact that loaded with horrifying, twisted pictures, this is a film that doesn’t stun you with shoddy panics; rather, it hooks into your subliminal and waits there.