“The Three Burials Of Melquiades Estrada” made me angry. My anger was not a result of the content, despite a myriad of creepy scenes featuring a corpse. Instead, the thing that earned my vexation was the nonlinear format of the first forty-five minutes of the film.
Furthermore, the reason I was so annoyed was the fact that the following hour and ten minutes were strangely compelling. So much so that I felt cheated out of the exposition.
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