Got an arthouse itch to scratch? Need to stare at miserable people and be condescended to? Try this half-pretentious, half-solid chin-stroker – an almost three-hour long exploration of domestic abuse, with almost no characterisation, subdivided into 59 individual chapters.
There’s good acting, and arresting images and moments do come – but the refusal to offer even small hints of exposition comes across as authoritarian and disdainful on the part of director Philip Gröning. More evidence, perhaps, that art cinema needs to come out from the shadow of Michael Haneke.
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