Most films we view emotionally and cerebrally but Son Of Saul, the holocaust drama from first-time director Laszlo Nemes, is experienced physically: it hits like a truck, leaving bruises under your skin; it pulverizes like a wrecking ball, smashing the core of your being into broken pieces. Although I saw it months ago at a festival, where I watched and recovered from dozens of other films, writing this review has been like peeling back a bandage over an old wound, revealing an aging and soiled disfigurement that hasn’t healed. The film’s subject matter, the inner workings of Auschwitz-Birkenau as told from…
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