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The Seventh Continent (1989). The discombobulating style of Michael Haneke is appreciated in full effect even in his feature debut. The focus here is not on the people or characters, but on the cultural rituals that have served to strip the humanity out of life, leaving an empty shell to be fill by mundane routine and material acquisition. Based on a true story, the culmination of such a bleak existence finds its repose in the form of a dreadful epiphany. The attention to detail is almost agonizing in scope; this is no accident. The acting was superb, with the beautiful eyes of the daughter the first to "see" that life has no meaning. The writing and direction of Haneke comes off as precocious, perfectly settled to the purpose at hand. For those easily disturbed steer clear as this film pulls no punches as the denouement is finally revealed, in all of its awful glory. Merci beaucoup.
Genruk
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Fate is my mistress, mother of the cruel abomination that is hope.
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