As much as I may admire the relentlessness of Tarr's style and tone, this exhausting experience is such an extreme exercise in miserablism it approaches self-parody. As it seems Tarr fundamentally lacks a sense of humor or any joy for life, it's clear there's no irony in his final shot being of his mopey characters staring forlornly at potatoes on the table. His impressive tracking shots are more distracting than anything else, giving the film a bizarrely structured feel despite the obnoxious length of each single shot. The blocking is so meticulous there's no organic quality to how these planned shots appear. Since Tarr's also lacking an editorial eye, this makes for the longest two and a half hours that should be spent in a theater this year.
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