The most damning thing I can say about any film is when you walk out not 5 minutes in or 10 minutes in, but you stick it out until the bitter end, then give up in the last 10 minutes. That's what I did here. Kept hoping against hope it was going to start making sense, be less vacuously pretentious, devoid of emotion, bleak and empty, but it never did. Nihilistic, in a way that reminded me of 60s French movies by people like Jean Luc Godard. (I laughed like a drain at Pierrot Le Fou, but most of them were dire.) If you like people having banal and platitudinous conversations that are supposed to have some kind of elliptical meaning or symbolism, perhaps like Beckett's Waiting for Godot, you will probably love this!
Review of L
