The Mountain (Rick Alverson, 2019)

For once, I'm at a loss for much to say about a film. The Mountain is the year's feature-length sorta-narrative head scratcher. Set in the 1950s (I think), it tells a skeletal impression of a story about a rudderless young man (Tye Sheridan, a doe-eyed beauty) who accompanies an oily lobotomist (Jeff Goldlbum, winningly gross) to take photographs of patients Goldblum has subjected to shock therapy and worse at various asylums. Filled with ellipses (and that includes the ending), the film works more by feel than Meaning. So if you're in the market to be creeped out for no discernible reason, then check it out. I should mention, though, that Alverson still doesn't seem to know what to do with women so it may creep you out for perfectly discernible reasons.