“The way that Bydlowska dives into Guy’s mind feels so natural that it’s unsettling. While disturbing and disgusting, Guy’s internal narrative is pretty hilarious, but in that same dark and perverse way that Seinfeld is funny. Bydlowska is careful not to let comedy undercut the loathsome nature at the root of her story: this type of toxic masculinity is very real and very dangerous. It takes great skill to create a balanced narrative like this, and Bydlowska proves that she has this in spades.”
“It wasn’t always like that.
After we got married, we flew to Europe where we rented a small Cinquecento to drive from Denmark all the way to Greece. After hours of driving, we’d stop at hotels in cities we wanted to spend some time in. Mostly small cities with small hotels with small rooms with big beds. We’d have sex and shower and change and go out to eat. There was always a pretty town square in each city, a restaurant with tiny tables and chairs spilling out onto the sidewalks, where we’d drink sparkly wine and eat a dish of the local interpretation of carbs, and the local cheese and fruit for dessert. If this was lunch, we’d stroll around the city following no specific direction, going inside buildings and churches that were open, taking an occasional photo of things that impressed us: a fading fresco, a gargoyle head, weird vegetables, scrawny kittens, dark-haired children running in the streets, backs of other tourist couples holding hands.”