From Portugal comes one of the most boring films I have ever seen in my whole life, a trilogy of three stories that are strung together with little connection. The first concerns a famous scientist who is trying to get his equally famous son to commit suicide because only in tragic death is true immortality achieved. The second story is about two men who linger endlessly (and I mean endlessly) about a prostitute they both love, who herself gives seven-hour monologues about the very nature of wallpaper (maybe I wasn't paying very close attention by that point). The third installment, about an unhappy woman in a peasant village who seeks out the help of a Greek hermitic witch and learns a lesson about dissatisfaction, is by far the most interesting tale and the only one that is actually a story as opposed to an acting exercise for melodramatic orators.
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