Every bit as self-referential as Storytelling, though certainly not as self-deprecating, Matthew Parkhill’s smug dot the i is only too happy to fuck with our minds. The film, though, begins in remarkably dull fashion, with Carmen (Natalia Verbeke) falling for Kit (Gael García Bernal), a man with an inexplicable fondness to videotape the world around him, and mere moments after her boyfriend, Barnaby, (James D’Arcy), proposes to her.
With a name like Barnaby, it’s only natural that Carmen’s fiancé does nothing but play chess, drink wine, and pout, thus making it easier for her to get physical with someone closer in temperature and color to herself. To quote the film: “This whole Latino thing…it’s so now.”
But you’re wasting your time if you find yourself fretting over the film’s gross exaggerations, or, more accurately, its limited worldview, not to mention the way that Parkhill’s straightforward aesthetic is repeatedly, cloyingly, and unexplainably interrupted by lurches in tone that are meant to imply that someone (possibly an ex-boyfriend) is after Carmen. Quicker than you can say “Holy atomic pile, Batman,” Parkhill tacks on a last-act gimmick that attempts to pose as a serious discussion on the relationship between art and reality.
Parkhill strains for self-reflexivity, wishing dot the i had something remotely relevant to say about the lengths a person will go to in order to produce and sell a film in today’s gimmick-happy marketplace. In the end, the film is no different than the “emotional snuff film” it pretends to condemn, wiping out human emotion in favor of soulless twists.
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