There's a new antonym for the word "thrilling" and it has only one letter: "L."
There’s a new antonym for the word “thrilling” and it has only one letter: “L.” Novice helmer Babis Makridis has his new Greek cinema bona fides tied up, as his co-scripter, d.p., and lead thesp are all vets from a crop of recent Hellenic prizewinners, but “L” takes their trademark deadpan absurdism and steers it into a dead end. Searching for meaning in this fixed-camera tale of a car-dwelling oddball would be as pointless as expecting Britain to solve the Eurozone crisis, though doubtless some may try. Fest exposure will be limited, and even Parisian cinephiles might let this pass.
A man (Aris Servetalis) lives in his car, occasionally visited by his wife (Nota Tserniafski) and two kids. His job is to pick up one jar of honey and deliver it to a narcoleptic employer (Yannis Bostantzoglou), but tardiness results in his being fired. His tiny world crumbles and he wrecks his car, but is saved by motorcyclists who bring him into their fold. Dialogue is even more nonsensical than the plot, and perfs are uniformly expressionless. “L” connotes the learner’s permit on a new license; ’nuff said.