I’ve always had a fear of being watched. Hidden cameras, two-way mirrors, microphones buried in the secret depths of my bedroom. While my friends sprinted through dark parking lots with mace clutched in their palms or slept in the back seat with the car lights on during camping trips, I used to wave to the bathroom mirror each night after brushing my teeth and switch the light off while stepping into the shower, just to let any spying perverts know I wasn’t fooled.
Given my slightly peculiar background with the subject (yes, I’m sure a therapist could have a field day with the whole two-way mirror fear) seeing and then reviewing this movie was more or less a swan dive into a steaming pit of personal neuroses. Since leaving the theater I’ve been demanding that Boyfriend check the bedside radio and bathroom grate every morning for planted surveillance equipment. Though I’m hardly the only one so disturbed; one friend told me it was like watching eighty minutes of snuff porn. On that note, here’s my full review.
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