If someone needs confirmation that a psychoanalytic reading of art can give nothing to art, then this is it. Another movie is a mystery about where sleep is and where not sleep. Why? For the sake of finding deep meaning that doesn't exist. According to the "good" tradition, the exposition of the characters lasts about fifty minutes of the film. Very impressive. All consumer directors who shoot popcorn slag are managed in ten minutes. But that's from a lack of skill, of course. Often, the appearance of a character on the screen is accompanied by whipping music that seems to hint that this character is a serial killer. Spoiler: There won't be any.
We are introduced to three women, each of whom, according to the director, is an empty vessel in the desert. The first is looking for friends and lovers, trying to be a lady, pleasant in all respects. To give credit, Shelley Duvall perfectly showed a woman who was always talking about nothing. The second woman is trying to become someone else. The third is alienated and always silent. In the end, they suddenly assume “natural” roles. The first one becomes a caring mother. The other is a lazy daughter. And the third one is an ordinary grandmother.
So, the film is about how difficult it is in today’s world to differentiate between your aspirations and the standards that others have introduced. And the fragility of reality. And by and large, this is the case when the author's film tried to give something strong, but was fruitless.