“I’ve had a hard day,” soft-spoken protag, known only as Dealer (Felician Keresztes), tells someone midway through pic’s hefty running time, “and it’s not over yet.” He begins rounds by delivering cocaine to an obese religious leader. He next visits the hospital room of a tightly swaddled friend whose skin burned off while sleeping in the tanning bed of his fitness center business; initially reluctant to inject his pal with the overdose he’s begging for, the supplier agrees after chum pledges him the health club.
Then it’s off to see childhood pal Barbara, some kind of escort whose stylish house hides the Dealer’s stash. The other women in his life are former g.f. Wanda (Aniko Szigeti), who wants to quit but is still cadging dope, and Wanda’s somber young daughter Bogi (Edina Balogh), who may or may not be his child. After a procession of encounters with angry competitors, sullen users, and his own father, the Dealer decides after years of being clean to shoot up on a bench in the health club’s weight room, after which he strips and zones out for good in the garishly lit tanning bed.
Calling work “a film of destruction,” Fliegauf describes its demographic as “those few who consider depression … a terrible state of consciousness that saturates the life of many of us.” Pic presents a widescreen bluish wasteland leached of color and even a hint of warmth among the human interactions within (like “Heat” with a lobotomy). Yet after the first few set pieces, some may begin to feel a lack of detail or energy within, and a certain sameness to the slowly circling camera shots helmer favors. It’s a technically remarkable piece of work to be sure, but without a narrative framework that resonates with the human tragedy of three-dimensional characters, emotional involvement remains elusive.