As an exercise in pure viscera, Argentine provocateur Gaspar Noé mostly pleases with Climax. A group of dancers unknowingly drink spiked sangria which slowly warps their afterparty into an LSD-soaked nightmare. With a premise like that, it may be evident that this is a film meant to be experienced rather than thought about. The pleasures of Climax come nearly entirely from its sheer audiovisual power: the ceaselessly pulsating score, the fluid one-shot takes, the lurid colors. It's closer to performance art than what most people would characterize as a "movie" and should be approached with that mindset if you're to enjoy it. However, as enjoyable as its best sequences are, the lack of nearly any thematic depth imbues much of the film with a subtly nagging tediousness. And even when viewed purely from an experiential perspective, it is far from watertight in its pacing and flow. Still, there is a cumulative power in its sound, visuals, and theatrics that's hard to deny.

Weak 3.5/5