the world of tennis becomes a micrcosm of the entire capitalist enterprise, fascist underpinnings and all. the pursiut of purity; pristine physical forms besting opposition through discipline, pain, and ruthlessness. the subllimating of all desire into avenues of conformity -- there's no room for divergent, incongruent expressions. the most fulfilling relationship in your life can't be acted upon in ways that don't upset the established order, and so you feed it competition, sexual and athletic. you make your lover your enemy so that at least they stay in your life. sex is validation. sex is weaponry. sex is nothing. the only place you can truly disapper and become yourself is in the 15 seconds when your body is a perfect vessel of sport -- between the serve and point where for once you and your opponent are something more. complete partners in an exhibition of grace and yearning.

a smarter movie than i think it's being credited as, but also an incredibly self-conscious one. directed to within an inch of its life and overwhelmed by fancy camera tricks and an (excellent) score that can't stand to let us grow bored for a minute. guadagnino cuts in with close ups of every subtlety of movement, and i wish he had the balls (heh) to let us sus these things out ourselves rather than holding our hands all the way there.