Review: Tully

Cut myself on angel hair and baby’s breath.

by Iñaki Oñate

The lights in the movie theater dimmed down into total obscurity. The first image of the film: it’s nighttime, we see a yellowish desolated street in the wastelands of the American countryside. The semantic elements announce a standard horror flick (as predictable but at the same time as satisfying as a Big Mac).

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