Have we been so stifled by Hollywood formulas and actors studio mannerisms that we need throw gold stars and superlatives at anything that does not retread plot devices or boast a familiar narrative contrivance? Is that the measure of good cinema? Anything that isn't a bloated American production? 12:08 East of Bucharest won the Camera D'Or in Cannes for what must the most self-indulgent, esoteric, longwinded one-note joke ever put on art film. We have needlessly long- shots, completely disjointed from the movie's rhyme-scheme, which does nothing but draw attention to the fact that you're watching a film that desperately craves acknowledgement for its bureaucratic pace and 'artistic' subtleties. But nothing congeals and the film's 2-3 minute inert shots and circular banter is reduced to mere gimmicks instead of underscoring (almost non-existent) themes of a stagnated post-communist economy and wishful democratic nostalgia.
This has all the hallmarks of a disastrous inside joke; though the characters are supposed to be quirky, lovable oafs they're never actually written to be anything other than 2-dimensional pastiches each equipped with one tragic flaw and completely irrelevant emotional baggage.
In spite of a few truly charming scenes during a live broadcast gone awry, this is trite, uneventful (in every way) and surprisingly pretentious art-house filler.
This has all the hallmarks of a disastrous inside joke; though the characters are supposed to be quirky, lovable oafs they're never actually written to be anything other than 2-dimensional pastiches each equipped with one tragic flaw and completely irrelevant emotional baggage.
In spite of a few truly charming scenes during a live broadcast gone awry, this is trite, uneventful (in every way) and surprisingly pretentious art-house filler.