Lets just have fun with a multitude of Approaches to this.

Rating: 6/10 (14 November 2017)

THere have been so many reviews to this film, and unsurprisingly, they all just about touch upon the same topics: judeo Christian themes abound with no names in place in this film, everyone has a titular pseudonym. There's a Him and She, and Thief, and Neophyte, and Herald, and the main character refers to himself as " I am I". And sure, that angle was plain and obvious, aside from one other, tiny , teensy little thing...an unfortunate satanic aspect to this.
Talk about drinking the cool aid, this film starts off with a baffling chore of restoring an old mansion that seems to not only have a growing life of its own, but reacts to harm in a way( Gaia, mother earth blah blah, environment parallels) whenever its damaged or the woman of the house, its "mother", is stressed out. But more often than not, the ladies husband is a dual focus as a creator that has writers block, yet is writing a story, but is referred to as a poet. "He" hides away a fantastic crystal that is a momento of a love long lost, but is loathe for others to even look upon it. But when they do, they become enamored, healed of mental woes and physical ailments for however long they were in the shards vicinity. Memory is a covetous thing after all, made all the more palpable as a symbol that can reignite lost passion.
Now even when "His" stories are read by others, the only tale we are informed about touches upon an apocalyptic scene wherein the house is restored after a world shattering devastation, and the sparse surrounding area is brought to life, while all else beyond lies in permanent states of death. A sort of "Book of Life", in which all things are written, as if written just for each body whom reads its pages... Again, the Christian elements, such as the garden of eden is so palpable, its almost insulting. But the thing about all that god and heaven stuff, is it has an opposite in its own tales. Darker forces seem to amass upon the small, nameless home , as more supplicants arrive to see their exalted writer, literally coming out of the woodwork/ forest around the land. More and more the parallels to the rape of the land and excess are shown, but instead of some warning, cautionary tale, the story seems to only convey a type of ritualistic momentum that builds into orgy and sacrificing mode as time goes on. Everyone begins to party, a baby is born, but it is soon taken to a candle lit, dingy room, and upon an altar, its dead body is consumed ( don't be fooled into the claims this is just a metaphor for the body of Christ, though Christianity is technically a reformed cannibals anonymous group at times). The wife can take no more, she burns the house, but the husband is the only one unafraid, just simply let down. Again he may seem like god, but only so long as others obey him and allow him power over them ( devilish, non?), and all because of some manuscripts he is famous for ( satanists bibles, perhaps). He takes the dying love of his wife , which formed under the "pressure" of her stressful life, a lump of coal is pulled from her decaying body, soon to reveal a large, pure crystal, like a diamond in the rough while all else fades away. The man puts the crystal upon a dias( much like a relic of much needed power for stability. Something a true God would not need, but a nefarious kind of being might) and all rebuilds in an instant; walls reform, all debris and bodies vanish, the day dawns as a peaceful morning gently erupts through all windows, and where the wifes body was, a body rebuilds, into the visage of a different woman, to simply be yet another pawn for the man to crutch his endless parade of self indulgence upon. A vessel to rebuild that which he needs to maintain his power, and world, his form maybe even. This bares a resemblance to some stories about conjurers and mystics that try to maintain everlasting life thorough a medium of sacrifice and some object to be the crux of their existence. Still it was not a bad film, just kind of a thrill ride, that almost seems like an actress or actors worst nightmare should the paparazzi or fans storm into their lives, though they put themselves out there as icons, as if to be worshiped. For what is Hollywood, but the altar upon which our adoration is spent?