text: I saw this piece of pseudo-intellectual crap a couple of years ago, and it is now making a comeback at the local film club. It uses every cliché in the Intellectual Movie Makers Handbook (Beginners Edition) in order to appear as intellectual as the director probably imagines himself to be. You get your run-of-the-mill slow-motion tempo, brown color scale, slow pans through bombed-out environments, blank, suffering facial expressions, over-symbolic imagery, and the requisite miserable ending.<br /><br />It is a complete failure, an unintentional perfect caricature of the typical Russian art movie. The director, Aleksandr Sokurov, has excellent command of technique, but he lacks eye. He doesn't see when he crosses the line into the realm of the pathetic.<br /><br />This movie is a wet dream for art film haters. It lives up to every stereotypical view of the genre that there is.<br /><br />If it was bad in an entertaining way, it would a turkey. But for a movie that is so bad that you walk out afterwards royally p***ed-off, we need a new term. This movie is a Sokurov.