Neo-neo-noir. .
To begin with, almost all elements characteristic of a noir movie are available here (except for the visual ones). But they are here in such a developed form that they lose their traditional style, which migrated to the neonoir. This is a completely new genre iteration, absolutely God-awful in its metamorphosis and at the same time still beautiful in that it carries the memory of the traditions of previous genres. Causes, so to speak, memories that are more pleasant than what you see at the moment. . .
Feme Fatale? Please, here she is, all so hot, but losing the mystery of the word "totally." Literally, we will learn everything about it, unequivocally and completely. And even before we finally know, we clearly anticipate. Lies? It's available! But it will open absolutely without delicacy and shock, will suck in the explanations for many minutes so that you will not have a chance not to understand something. Isn't it boring? The main character's inner monologue? Also in place. But he is so rich in an abundance of words, so pretentious and ambitious that he ceases to claim realism.
Everything. Everything is long, detailed, with a slow and careful disclosure of all maps to a single and tense unsuccessful maintenance of sensitivity, pathos. The film is like a meticulous tutor trying to reveal the meaning of Dostoevsky’s works to a stupid schoolboy for a meager fee. But we're not stupid students. We read, we know, so to speak. Therefore, these long explanations and superficial emotionality stupidly steal 40 minutes of the film, depriving the viewer of the need to work and immerse him in a nap, in pleasant dreams of memories of “Strange Days” Bigelow, for example.
p.s. The ending is great. Made me after thinking about it still put the film as much as 4 instead of the originally planned three. If the film hadn’t stretched out foolishly and pretentiously in its disgusting manner, it might have become one of my favorites. It's not a bad story. . .