Guillermo del Toro’s heart beats louder when he allows himself to play, dreaming his own dreams and respecting his heroes enough to sully them.
Del Toro’s book obliterates repugnant notions of "high art" and "low art," the kind of phrases often coined by people who appear to be terrified of having their snob identification card revoked on a possible technicality.
Yet another ghost story that insists there’s nothing more chilling than a woman charged with raising a child on her own.
The resulting auteurist splatter both fascinates from a thematic standpoint and frustrates from a narrative one.
Some scenes in Mimic achieve the poetic, oneiric horror of the mother-meat sequence in Luis Buñuel’s Los Olividados.
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