So close to a bona-fide masterpiece in my eyes; maybe the overt comparisons with Antonioni's work, tainted the experience, as well as the platitudinous score prevent it from making that last step. Nevertheless, this film is brimming with true filmic intensity, that one rarely sees (or feels) in "narrative" cinema.
The opening scene is breathtaking, but then my expectations were squashed by the rather lame, standard storyline. The second half reminds one of Antonioni but the sophistication stops at its view of women, which is strictly XIX century. The arthouse trimmings and skewed narrative effectively engaged me as long as they made me forget what was actually going on. Once you return to make sense of it, it all falls apart.
Oft-roving cameras and outstretched hands reaching for nothing make the opening scene here one of the greats. The film is full of other such wonderful moments, but (as clichéd as this sounds) it never quite packs as much of a punch as Antonioni's best.