A man arrives in a strange, beautiful, sterile city where no-one feels any emotion and obsesses instead about interior design. The essential sameness of his days is reminiscent of 'Groundhog Day'; the strange passages in and out of this world more remind one of 'Being John Malkovich'. But truly, this is a Scandanavian movie, a piece of self-satire that is also Scandanavian in style: the tone is austere, and even the most fantastic scenes are played straight, daring you to laugh at the absurdity. To my mind, the combination isn't wholly successful: there aren't enough genuine laughs to compensate for the difficulties of taking the piece as pure drama. It certainly is original; perhaps my problem is that the world that it satirises is not one that I recognise. Perhaps I should move to Scandanavia!