The mumbliest of all mumblecore.
This intense little film is a psychological drama with lots of funky 1970s dissolves, plenty of close-ups on teary eyes and raw hysterical faces, and no real climax or conclusion. It also has a score that sounds like someone leaning on the keyboard of a dying organ while tinkling four sets of wind chimes.
As a film, it is fashionably "interpretable" and a lot of reviews tend to read a tremendous amount of meaning into it. Does heartbreak and loss shake the very foundations of our identity? Can depression give way to a sort of protective self-absorption that makes us a king or queen of our own earth? Is what we are even witnessing in this film real, or just a figment of Catherine's unhinged reality? Is Catherine even there? Who knows? Ultimately, it's all up to you.
What I understood of this film didn't make much sense, there was a lot of mashing together of the past and the present, and in general the whole thing had a disturbing, untethered, dreamlike quality. Whether this makes it a good film is arguable, but Elisabeth Moss certainly acted the living daylights out of her role nevertheless.