"Our father who aren't in heaven."
Tillie, a floundering young woman and her charismatic, alcoholic father, struggle to resolve their fractured relationship in the weirdest possible way: after he dies, his ghost appears in mirrors to haunt everyone in the family but Tillie. The family must do everything they can to make Tillie see her father or else they will be plagued by this ghost forever.
Craig Bierko
Daniel
Winslow Schwartzman
Young Tillie
Isabella Roland
Tillie
Claudia Lonow
Frankie
Vic Michaelis
Violet
Jonathan Schmock
Carl
Nick Marini
Eric
Zac Oyama
Doctor
JoAnne Astrow
Renee
Tillie, a floundering young woman and her charismatic, alcoholic father, struggle to resolve their fractured relationship in the weirdest possible way: after he dies, his ghost appears in mirrors to haunt everyone in the family but Tillie. The family must do everything they can to make Tillie see her father or else they will be plagued by this ghost forever.
This movie is in the top tier of the best works of art I’ve ever seen. Context: So I write a lot. Most of it is about, essentially, myself. Every so often, I'll do a reread, and while I'm clutching at my aching chest, I'll think, "Wow, past!me sure was going through it!!!” Meanwhile, I'm also smooshing my cheeks down out of a violent grin so that my face stops hurting because there is really no substitute to reading something written specifically _for me_. That’s D(e)ad, in a nutshell. The ripping-hearts-out with precision-sharp claws and the uber-specific humor that could only be combined so perfectly by someone funny and hurting and clever and growing and healing and brilliant and unafraid of alienating People who Just Don’t Get It™ because D(e)ad isn’t _for them_, silly. D(e)ad is by and for Isabella Roland, who is funny and clever and brilliant and TOTALLY unafraid. And that means it’s also, somehow, amazingly and painfully and delightfully, for me. — Rating: 10000000/10, no notes, five hundred bajillion stars, THE longest keysmash, and the perfect sensory pairing of salty tears + achy-from-oversmiling cheeks + time confusion because how has it been _less than two hours_ since before the sidewalk scream
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