White Bird in a Blizzard in 200 Words

.

Gregg Araki movies are known for being crude, lewd, sexy punk things, filled with day-glo splooge and splatter, so it's kinda weird to think of settling into one like a warm blanket in a chamomile tea commercial, but that's kinda how his latest flick, White Bird in a Blizzard, feels. Maybe it's the four years Gregg's added on since he ended the world with a Kaboom, maybe it's the more low-key and serious Mysterious-Skin-ish vibe, or maybe (probably) it's the marshmallow affectations of Shaileene Woodley, but even as White Bird details abandonment and pit-stink in equal order it feels as if it couldn't hurt a fly. 

As is with All Things Eva Green these days it does zap to life whenever she's on-screen, swanning around one frilly apron shy of a malfunctioning Paula Prentiss. And bless Gregg for still having such a keen eye for presenting masculine sleaziness in all its endless iterations, be it the weed-fried grace of a cum-guttered Shiloh Fernandez or the dream-team daddy pairing of Chris Meloni and Thomas Jane. Ultimately White Bird's too subdued to be remembered as one of Araki's bright and finest, but it's a little slice of queer home-made worth a nibble.