Perhaps the single most electric experience of the last decade in cinema, Gaspard Noe’s Climax churns through a dance party that gets way, way out of hand when the sangria gets spiked with an unnamed hallucinogen. Packed with delirious, dizzying dance sequences, all the more aggressive and liberated by the sexual fluidity of the dancers themselves; the film is a possessed, drunk and drugged out, mainline trip of Boschian decadence and derangement, and a spiral into blissful, hellish euphoria.

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