Ruslanas Korostenskis' Velvet is an utter failure of storytelling, masquerading as arthouse cinema while delivering little more than softcore nonsense dressed in faux sophistication. Watching this film felt like sitting through a student project that mistook nudity and vague symbolism for depth and meaning.
The story-if you can even call it that-is barely there. Characters drift in and out of scenes like sleepwalkers, saying cryptic lines that lead nowhere and doing things that have no consequence. There's no plot to follow, no emotional arc, just a fog of meaningless visuals and prolonged, awkward sexual encounters. It feels less like a narrative and more like an excuse to string together scenes of nudity under the illusion of being edgy or avant-garde.
Let's be honest: Velvet doesn't feel like a movie made for thinking adults-it feels like something you'd find late at night on a shady cable channel. It's more porn than cinema, but without even the decency to be upfront about it. Instead, it hides behind slow shots and moody lighting, pretending to be profound.
Korostenskis seems more interested in shocking than saying anything substantial. Whatever artistic intentions might have existed are completely lost in the pretentious haze. Save yourself the time and skip this one-unless you enjoy watching confusion and boredom collide in a barely coherent, oversexualized mess.
