There is… a lot I can say about how problematic this is but it kinda ultimately means nothing to me when violently pushing beneath all the mismatched scattered genre fiction presentation is an almost very real rage against any kind of perceived brokenness being needed to be “fixed” for neurodivergent people. The most obvious of these being destruction of personality between mental alterations but there's an almost complete apathetic quality that leads along Jobe within their environment, as an object that purely needs protecting and isolating instead of a real human being that deserves love which only one other person in the film had ever completely reciprocated. And it's always there actively pushing between everything in the way something like a Cronenberg film would present, not this narrative afterthought as setup towards an ultimate ending but as a fully realized environment of every kind of religious and empathetic ignorance, a world that isn't created for anyone outside of a pre-conceived norm. By the time Jobe is actively hurting people despite not knowing what's wrong with himself I was so genuinely invested in this nearly on the verge of tears occasionally, partially because I went into this genuinely not expecting it to have meat on it's bones outside of being a dumb silly pre-internet time capsule of digital paranoia but also because everything about Jobe’s anger resonates with me so strongly. This is a really really scattered film aesthetically, bordering between the worst kind of shlamzy presentation in a film like *Field of Dreams* to *Johnny Mnemonic* levels of techno-thriller in ways that probably should make this unwatchable to most people but against that blending is a rage against that I am unable to disconnect myself from. It's so fucking hard to push back frustration for me for stuff beyond my control, and in a weird way I can feel that here, give into the burning wish of unleashing equal misery on what I've been wronged by just this once in an isolated cinematic space before I can leave it feeling better about myself, before the finale of wanting to save the one thing that mutually cared about you over pointless destruction. None of this makes any sense, I can't believe I'm talking like this about the fucking *Lawnmower Man* but I'm ultimately left with the conclusion that I've never really cared about how problematic any kind of presentation of fellow marginalized groups I'm a part of because no matter what fuck ups are there, if it can deliver me “something” I can spiritually feel for as it's thesis, something I can ultimately trust for myself is looking out for me then it's always going to be a win in my book even if it's buried beneath one of the most astonishingly confused works of art I've ever seen: I wouldn't have it any other way
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