This film tries desperately to be a beautiful arty film and because it tries so hard it fails miserably. Revoltingly self-conscious and pretentious. Neneh Cherry whispers meaningless nothings throughout the ENTIRE film. It's like one of those laughable perfume ads. Dreadful.
Many beautiful still shoots that could have been magnificent photographic pictures. They don't necessarily work as motion pictures, as the narrative dilutes the haunting mist and the memory of the past leaving us with non diegetic inscriptions on the walls of Stockholm.
As much as I disagree with Mark Cousins, I do love him. His passion for, and knowledge of, cinema, and his generally optimistic view of the world around us are great qualities. Unfortunately, his sensibilities are often quite far removed from my own. As is the case here, as Neneh Cherry wanders around Stockholm and reminisces about the place in the narrative feature debut from Cousins (after so many documentaries).
Mark Cousins is pedantic, verbose, earnest, and redundant as ever (did anybody endure more than ten minutes of his atrocious Sardinian travelogue? I didn't think so). Cousins' rhetorical questions make the viewing experience excruciating. Can somebody please re-edit this without voice over and intertexts?Neneh Cherry is magnificent, but even a fierce Buffalo stance can't save this pedestrian exercise.
A very mixed bag. Some sublime moments and a justifiably strong focus on Stockholm as a city of refuge. At the same time it is highly impressionistic largely providing surface fragments rather than a compelling narrative and spatchcocking in a personal story led to considerable longueurs that felt stretched in order to demonstrate the city as a place of individual sanctuary.