Gary Razumov returns to Israel from Berlin for his father’s funeral, but almost immediately discovers he has been tricked. His father, sentenced to prison years earlier as a Russian spy, has escaped from the pokey, and a couple of sardonically humorous cops (the Tarantino characters) are using Gary as bait to lead them to his old man. At the airport Gary runs into a lissome actress with the unlikely name of Tom, and she joins him in his quest for his pop. They set out into the desert, followed by the cops, and there the film grinds to a halt, introducing extraneous characters (like an idiot hitchhiker) and dwelling endlessly on the rocky landscape while Gary’s voiceover narration intones such gems as “My heart is empty of love and hate. Angels are calling my name, but I don’t answer.”
Camerawork is serviceable, but the occasional blasts of choral music are uneasily integrated. This is the kind of film in which the characters are so filled with angst that true love blossoms when boy and girl copulate standing up in a public toilet.
The actors aren’t given much chance to make their characters more than ciphers. Writer-director Pitchadze may be a precocious talent in the making, but he needs to lighten up a little.