When an auteur makes a film that is so unbridled of sense and style, that cries of childlike yearning for attention (as is fathomed when an infant cries for its mother's breast), the result might simply stultify the whole. In this case, like an inverse Gestalt analysis, the whole is much less than the sum of its parts. In terms of a forlorn requiem for his mother, some parts adhere together, such as the poetic remnants of his mother's disdain for him, or Karel's recollections of her. Some parts, I'm certain, as exemplified through his "eye" camera, would probably even make his mother dizzy with boredom, and prompt us for the >> button. As such, I still don't know who his mother was, and, additionally, I also realize that a person can be this narcissistic (at the expense of the viewer), as this should have been a personal home video, not a public one. Every artist longs for love, and every artist should not spread his art for just one person, and not everyone. But when it is made for one's self, in this case, it becomes nothing more than something you would see in a first year, third rate creative film classroom.
See also
Awards | FAQ | User Ratings | External Reviews | Metacritic Reviews
