What a letdown. Hot Milk is a textbook case of style over substance, where gorgeous cinematography and dreamy editing desperately try to mask the lack of coherent storytelling. Unfortunately, no amount of soft focus and artful compositions can save a film when the ideas are so half-baked they practically evaporate on screen.
The cinematographer, Christopher Blauvelt, said the goal was to “stay out of the way and let them have air.” Admirable in theory, but the result is an overinflated mess that feels more like an exercise in empty aesthetics than meaningful storytelling. The post-screening Q&A did not help much either. Instead of offering clarity, it was a string of vague non-sequiturs about “finding your own meaning” that left the audience more confused than before. It was like trying to read a map in braille, except the map kept changing languages every two minutes.
I found out only recently that this was an adaptation of a fairly popular book. Suddenly, everything made sense. The jagged pacing, the disjointed scenes, and the strange spliced-together feel are all classic signs of an adaptation gone wrong.
The only redeeming feature is Fiona Shaw, who brings much-needed gravitas and focus to an otherwise chaotic film. Her performance feels like it belongs to a different, much better movie. But even she cannot save Hot Milk from its own pretensions.
It is a pity because the elements for a powerful film are there, buried deep under layers of fragmented storytelling and meaningless dream sequences. With a tighter script and less indulgence, Hot Milk could have been something far more satisfying. Sadly, what we are left with is a curdled concoction that is neither nourishing nor palatable.
Rate: 2.5/5
Moey writes here. 
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