J. R. Jones
The movie is like Manhattan with mobile phones, and in fact the idea of constructing one's own reality fits right in with the Woody Allenesque tone.
Creative Control looks more interesting than it is.
While it hits some of the usual sci-fi tropes, Creative Control's center of gravity isn't tech itself, but the relationships of those who use it.
Even after establishing David as a panicky wreck addicted to his morning Xanax chewables and evening booze, the movie doesn't dramatize his ensuing breakdown so that it makes sense or generates much sympathy.
At times, I felt like I was out on a date with "Creative Control," only to find the movie kept checking its hair in the mirror every five minutes.
Like Antonioni, Dickinson is less interested in narrative structure and character development, but there's a problem here: He has nothing new to say about technology, alienation and the lost art of romance.
Strikingly scored to classical music and shot in black and white except for moments when technology and imagination intersect, it shows us a point where the human brain is outmoded and we dig it.
"Creative Control" is a hypnotic voyage into a society where technology addiction comes to rule and ruin those who fall under its seductive spell.
The more we augment reality, Dickinson seems to suggest, the more we reveal what's true about ourselves.