Being Annie Clark, you have to wonder if you dread going to sleep at night. Sure, there have been moments of stagnation in my life, when it just feels easier to lie to the mailman or my mother as Clark does “just to get along.” But, when I close my eyes, I don’t envision my liberation as a surgeon cutting me open. I don’t put on an angelic façade just to have my dreams littered with dystopian guitar tones and demented cries of anxiety. And I certainly don’t imagine being chased by an electric serpent, clawing at me as my surroundings become increasingly frantic, only for my fate to end unresolved in a puff of synthetic smoke. But Annie Clark’s character in “Surgeon” certainly does. And thank god for that.
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