They say art house. "Inappropriate Man."

This is clearly not a movie review. It's not even a review. You can hardly call it a post, but it just so happens that I'm not a particular fan of cinema. There are a few reasons for that. The first reason is that it is impossible to watch a film and do something at the same time. Or rather, it is possible, but not any movie will do. You know, "Ghostbusters" or "Starfleet" are easier to play/write/stupid. Anyway, I use cinema as a backdrop.

And so, for once, I decided to watch something. Turns out, art house. That's why the post is called that. I don't like the word art house. Because it's often used by pretentious fools. I've hardly ever met them in my life, but I still don't like them. And I certainly don't want to be one of them. So for me, and generally within the confines of my blog, it's just a movie. Without labels like "different" or "indie" or any of that crap. I hope we're human beings with brains, not just bone brains. Though they're comfortable thinking too, but it tickles.

Now that you have understood my attitude to film in general, about the subgenre. The picture is called "Irrelevant Man" and now you, if you want to spoil it with quality and sense - read the fragment of the content, carefully sprinkled with letters on the blog.

Inject me with spoilers, please!Anyway, I decided to copy the description here. It's what they write for this purpose - to make it clear and kind of introductory. I'll add some comments of my own to it.

Forty-year-old Andreas finds himself under mysterious circumstances in a strange city - an absolute idyll, neat streets, prosperous residents. He gets a job in the office of a big company: the employees are friendly and the working conditions are impeccable. Andreas even takes a wife and tries to arrange a family life.
But Andreas does not feel comfortable. Something is wrong. The people around are devoid of emotion; they exist as robots, following a routine, but you cannot call this a life. While he is taking a walk, Andreas suddenly sees the body of his colleague strung up on the iron bars of the fence, having jumped out of the office window. What caused the suicide?



I still don't understand where "forty year old" comes from. He doesn't look 40, but I don't know who the hell those Scandinavians are. Mysterious circumstances, too, not much - the protagonist just happens to be in the middle of some wasteland (he came here on his grandfather's Mercedes-Benz bus from nowhere, which is actually the same thing), where he meets some guy, who, according to him, has been waiting for him.

Further all according to the text. The city is ideal. The office is perfect. Everything's perfect. Everyone is smiling and trying to give Andreas a little kiss, everyone is so friendly. It's the perfect consumer paradise. Everybody's got everything, and if something's missing, they'll get it for you. For example, a new computer, lamps, a table, a telephone, a sofa, a kitchen... or else you can tear down all the walls of the house, because "white color in the living room is not very". However, the main character is strained by the fact that the locals are somehow not very responsive. All of them. Everyone. Either the cold Scandinavian nature doesn't allow them to help a man who just cut off his fingertips with a paper knife, or their women are such, that instead of love, passion, feelings and emotions they just want a bigger apartment, or maybe it all is one big allusion to the modern consumer culture, where office workers generate "it", and on weekends they enjoy looking through Ikea catalogues.