Lucky

Lucky went ridiculously over my head; it’s miles and miles over my head. It’s up in the stratosphere, invisible to the naked eye. About a self-help author who finds herself the victim of repeated home invasions (there’s certainly much more to it than that, but to say more would be to spoil the film’s (thoroughly baffling) surprises), I have absolutely no idea what the hell was going on in this movie. It has an odd, dream-like tone and effectively never makes literal sense; it’s operating entirely on an allegorical level, though an allegory for what, I couldn’t tell you (it’s clearly something about the way women are treated by men, though the specifics elude me). The film is written by (and stars) Brea Grant, who I know has talent because she also wrote and directed the very non-baffling 12 Hour Shift, which is also playing at Fantasia, and which I quite enjoyed. And certainly, both she and director Natasha Kermani deserve kudos for taking a big swing and doing something quite different — but it just never works. It’s solidly made and I wasn’t bored, but I was also never particularly engaged, because WTF. Seriously: WTF. That’s a legit question and I’d like somebody to answer it.

*1/2 out of ****