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Telling a story isn't one of the major objectives of this metaphysical road movie. Writer-director Sooz Hewitt, whose grace as an editor makes the associations between shots seem far less calculated than they must have been, uses intriguingly vague characters and an eerily consistent slow pace to suggest a relationship between literalized ideas about the physical universe—many in the form of radio-broadcast sound bites—and the alienation of characters who may actually be aliens. At the center of this mood piece—set in the Nevada desert and in anonymous interiors—are a woman who behaves as if she's moving on rather than escaping and her on-again, off-again traveling companion, a directionless bar denizen who becomes an object of mockery every time he says he's a writer. He also initiates the movie's frequent location changes by bumping his head and passing out—an action that gives up its slapstick quality to the heavy atmosphere.

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