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Non-Review Review: Dublin Oldschool

Dublin Oldschool is a pillpopping, soulsearching, trainspotting Ulysses.

Following its central character on what effectively amounts to a bank-holiday-weekend-long bender, Dublin Oldschool is an ode to the idea of Dublin as a village. It is a celebration of the nation’s capital as a place where you are always where you needs to be, even if you don’t know exactly where you’re going. It’s a moving meditation on that intangible spirit of the city, on the metaphorical rivers that move through it, guiding its residents along journeys that they don’t always comprehend.

To beach’s own.

Befitting its protagonist, who spends most of the movie lost in a hazy of exotic substances and bouncing from one crisis to another, Dublin Oldschool is loose, rambling, a little indulgent. The movie isn’t afraid to wander, to take its time getting to where it’s going, to soak in the characters and the dynamics. However, that’s kinda the point. There is an endearing mellowness to Dublin Oldschool, even in its most sombre and serious moments, a sense of a film that is drifting to where it is supposed to be.

There’s something endearing in that idea.

Urban wild life.

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