Are you fascinated by static shots of the ceiling? Do scenes in which potato peeling is the primary activity or scenes in which men discuss the cost of household repairs float your boat? If so, you will be in ecstasy over Cristi Puiu's new film, Aurora (or I as prefer to think of it, Andy Warhol's Aurora), a three-hour meditation on the life of an affectless, gun-toting loser (portrayed by the director) meandering through the streets of Bucharest.
Even for those who admired Puiu's Death of Mr. Lazarescu (and I count myself among them), Aurora will be a challenge: clocking it at almost three hours, the film eschews plot development in favor of plod development. As Puiu plods from one point to another in the Romanian capital, however, you'll probably be plotting an early escape route.
Even for those who admired Puiu's Death of Mr. Lazarescu (and I count myself among them), Aurora will be a challenge: clocking it at almost three hours, the film eschews plot development in favor of plod development. As Puiu plods from one point to another in the Romanian capital, however, you'll probably be plotting an early escape route.