I saw the film at the Belgrade Film Festival last week, and I'm still working off the trauma. Essentially my view seems to match a number of others - the first half hour was fresh, sharp, deep, entertaining and promising. Well acted too. Natural. My problem, however, is not simply with the fact that the final hour and a half of the film have nothing to do with the likable beginning, nor the fact that I spent most of this time convulsing in agony at sharp, grating industrial sounds and squinting at drunken, toothless, bread-chewing hags. It's rather with the fact that THEY NEVER WARNED ME!!! The festival brochure synopsis described only the (utterly intriguing-sounding) first half hour - a whore, piano tuner and meat seller chat in a bar, pretending to be an advertising agent, genetic engineer, and petty government administration official, respectively - making no mention whatsoever of the never-ending gum-smacking to come. Serves me right for not reading the reviews, you might say - but to my defense, a number of reviews I looked at post-fact um didn't at all stress the immensity and utter unbearableness of the greater part of the film.<br /><br />The first hint should have been the introductory words by the director (a bashful, tousle-haired Russian youth) who stepped in front of the crammed auditorium (the film seems to be doing incredibly well critically, and tickets were sold out well in advance of the screening, though most of the audience seemed as unaware as I was of the pain to come, judging by the plethora of unearthly moans and groans that utterly permeated the theatre during the last half hour, and many exasperated comments on exit) to say the following: 'Well, I... um, thank you very much for coming to see this film, and I just wanted to say... well, it's a very long film... it took me four years to make it, and... it's.. I suggest that you see it and immediately try to forget about it. It is very long. Thank you for coming.' This is what he said. Alarm bells should have been ringing. 'What's he talking about?' I thought in happy confusion. 'This is gonna be fun!' Of course, by the time his strangely apologetic comments started making sense to me, it was far too late to get out. All I could do is writhe in increasing agony until the lights came on again. And in the end I can't say I feel in any way improved by the experience. Yes, I absolutely loved the first half hour. It was intelligent, new, and had a lot to say. And yes, Russia is probably in a bad state. Yes, every society has many hidden faces. Yes, toothless life in barren wastelands is probably unimaginably hard. Yes yes yes. I get all of this. Really I do. But I see no earthly reason why art and meaning should be so agonisingly drawn out, and so painful to bear. If you want to see a film land somewhere between the extremes of glitzy Hollywood plastic fantastic and hours of muddy vodka swigging, try the Korean-Chinese Bin Jip (3-Iron). It's artsy and surprising, but also to-the-point and fun.