We tend to talk a lot about a sense of physicality in horror films, about a tactile presence of the body in the image. “The Act of Seeing With One’s Own Eyes” is a film of pure physicality: it is the physical divorced from the cerebral and the spiritual. It is corporeal cinema. Anatomical cinema. If “body horror” were not already a genre it would need to be invented to account for this.
Rendering the philosophical visceral, and vice-versa, it is as indelibly affecting, and as difficult to watch, as any other half-hour in the history of cinema, a pure and awful glimpse of the sublime.