If only we could give a negative number of stars! Only a French director could make a film this pretentious and excruciatingly dull. You could turn down the sound, avoid looking at the opening credits, and still know it's a French film because the couple who are its "stars" are gaunt, pale, rumpled, Boho, and her sleeves are too long. Oh, and they perpetually look sullen.
We watch them do nothing more than drive around in the desert and sit around at a motel. These long stretches of nothing happening and almost no dialogue are punctuated by scenes of mechanical, graphic sex performed at a high decibel level. The film then ends in an orgy of violence that comes out of nowhere.
The only point this movie has is the one on the filmmaker's head.
We watch them do nothing more than drive around in the desert and sit around at a motel. These long stretches of nothing happening and almost no dialogue are punctuated by scenes of mechanical, graphic sex performed at a high decibel level. The film then ends in an orgy of violence that comes out of nowhere.
The only point this movie has is the one on the filmmaker's head.