A Ghost Story
— It’s been a while since I’ve been more irritated by a film. “A Ghost Story” is at its best when it’s over, because it grows on you once your patience is no longer being tested. It may have been too poetic or too meditative for my consumption. The first quarter of the film went on forever—long, long scenes with hardly any dialogue or narration and not much background music. From there it was nearly laughable as the ghost left the morgue wearing a sheet, appearing to have donned a cheap Halloween costume, and returned to his ranch home to watch his wife deal with her grief, while he dealt with his own loss of love and life. About halfway through, background music and dialogue were fully implemented, but the ghost could do little more than observe life without him, becoming the embodiment of sadness. Just before the film took a sudden shift for the better, I had begun to think about tedious foreign films of the 1960s and ‘70s, and I even fantasized about bolting for the exit when, onscreen, past and present and future became jumbled. The film managed to pull things together by focusing on human emotion, spiritual connections, and legacy—or something like that! What began as the dullest film I’ve seen in ages, left me scratching my head and wondering what the heck had just happened when the credits rolled. It raised lots of questions about love, loss, and legacy, but I think any answers are ours to find.