Black Bear

Even if you spot the final twist coming a mile off, there are a few mysteries left to ponder -- and on the other hand, there can be little doubt that Plaza's performance is a tour de force.

Aubrey Plaza is an unpredictable powerhouse in writer-director Lawrence Michael Levine's two-part negotiation of the untrustworthy power dynamics of a filmmaking couple.

Levine's playful deconstruction of tortured genius is a witty and provocative send-up of tyrannical directors, diva-ish actors and over-invested voyeurs alike.

Bears may not defecate in these woods, but s*** hits the fan with style.

Sounds confusing. It's not. It's a delight.

Black Bear screams into life.

Black Bear does, after all, stink of men writing women as cute dolls to be played with. It’s the sardonic, versatile Plaza performance that saves Levine’s Black Bear.

Black Bear is an enveloping experience that shines because of the shameless commitment of its stars and the privileged view it provides on the abusive bond between artists. Just do not try to find an answer to everything you see on screen.

Black Bear is a fascinating study of the subjectivity of art and a fantastic showcase for a trio of actors working at the top of their game.

Most critics are using the tagline to describe Black Bear as a lot to unpack, and it is. Though, it is kind of like unpacking a bag you did not put together and then putting it back into a suitcase that looks awfully similar.