Siberia

At times, it looks like a very severe version of Fellini or Jodorowsky.

Siberia is all interior, and the state of Clint (Dafoe) is unclear, the linear trajectory of his life fuzzy beyond recognition.

Dafoe, a close collaborator with Ferrara, brings the intensity and nakedness (not just physical) necessary for the film's trip.

A genuine misfire that is not nearly profound as it wants to be.

"Siberia" is a Freudian wallow made by a New York street fighter of a Fellini, and it is nothing if not authentic in its stress-fractured machismo.

Siberia captures precisely what it is that makes Ferrara's films so electrifying: while not always coherent, he is determinedly consistent in his devotion to his core visions, and as hungry as ever to discover new ways to express them.

I struggled to understand what was going on, I was struggling to find a reason to care about the character or any of the dreams that he was in, and I was struggling to make it completely through the short runtime.

In the course of his travels, Clint begins to grasp the frailty of the form and the vulnerability of the vessel.

Ferrara throws everything at Siberia, turning it into a playground for emotive relation. But it is Dafoe, his muse, who so thoroughly brings the audience along with the randomness…

The film requires us to step outside of a rational mindset to enter this man's delirium... [Full review in Spanish]