M

Though I'm tempted to simply invoke the concise yet passionate two-word stuart watson review from last year, I'll elaborate and try to be charitable.

Ostensibly a story about a writer haunted by images and nightmares from his past, 'M' veers from intrique to slapstick comedy to mawkish sentimentality in the span of twenty minutes, then repeats this loop until the film's uninteresting, trite, wholly pointless conclusion. A showcase for the filmmaker's cinematic technique, I will give the movie points for style; from gorgeous sets to carefully edited chase sequences to the use of still-life photography, the director is clearly technically skilled and the premise itself could have been fleshed out into an interesting if somewhat slight narrative. But he gives little if any thought to developing empathic characters, instead presenting a series of bumbling fools who flit from one unconvincing emotional state to the next, usually managing a maniacal laugh or scream along the way, apparently for the sole purpose of irrating the audience.

What else did I like about the film? Very little, other than the fact that it eventually ended, and I could leave. Had I been seated at the end and not the middle of the aisle, this would have occurred thirty minutes into the proceedings. You should be able to guess my recommendation on this one.